An Old Blue Fish
by Wavebreeze
Summary: When Lisa Cunningham dies in a car accident, she leaves her sixteen year-old son with nowhere else to go but to the father that he has never known. Now Gabe and Joshua must struggle to understand each other before others separate them for good.
1. Numbness

Chapter One – Numbness

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><p>I've always been a deep sleeper, a trait my mother claims I inherited from my lazy father. Once my head is resting on either a soft pillow or a desk at school I'm as inert as a rock. Therefore, it takes a great deal to wake me up at three in the morning by incessantly ringing the doorbell and calling my phone until it vibrates so much that I think its causing an earthquake.<p>

My mind is heavy with sleep and my limbs feel like giant stones while the vibrating phone and _dings_ of the doorbell are punches to my aching body. I groan and, in my groggy state, I chuck my pillow across the room in a pathetic attempt to stop the noises. With immense effort, I peak an eye open and glance at the alarm clock beside my bed. In overly bright red letters it reads 3:26. Who the hell is calling me and ringing my doorbell at 3:26 on a Tuesday night?

The noises don't stop and, with another furious groan, I push myself out of bed. Being the clumsy fool I am, my lanky legs tangle themselves together and I stumble across the floor until I slam into the wall. I groan again and scrabble in the darkness for my phone that has fallen to the ground. My fingers fumble with the vibrating object and then somehow flip it open. The phone's screen releases a blinding light that feels like lasers shooting straight into my pupils. Squeezing my eyes shut against the bright glow, I mumble into the phone, "Hello?"

"Joshua," a stern woman's voice replies, and through my sleepy haze I manage to associate that powerful yet calm voice to Dr. Kimishima, the adoptive mother of my best friend Alyssa.

Why the hell is _she_ calling me at 3:26 – now 3:27 – on a Tuesday night?

"Uh…hi, Dr. Kimishima," I yawn and try rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "Are you at my house?"

"Yes," she responds in her stone cold voice as if this is normal.

I wait for her to say more but she doesn't. With a yawn, I grumble, "I'll be down in a second."

Sleep still weighs on my mind like an immovable boulder as I grab a pair of jeans off the floor and a random t-shirt from my dresser. I'm too tired to think of reasons why Dr. Kimishima could possibly be at my house with something so urgent that she has to come at 3:26 on a Tuesday morning to tell me. I stumble down the stairs in the dark, almost tripping again, and fling the front door open to find a tall woman standing before me. Her tight, low cut suit clings to her skinny body and the moon illuminates her pale face and silver hair that gracefully falls around her shoulders. As usual, her mouth is set in a straight line and her striking cobalt eyes are calculating me as if I'm one of her mysteries.

I'm too tired to even say hello and I lean against the doorway with my eyes half closed. The numbing February wind from outside nips at my lanky body as a few snowflakes gently glide down from the black sky. I wonder how long Dr. Kimishima has been out here because it must have taken at least half an hour to have waken me from my deep slumber.

"Joshua," she begins again in a voice with such gravity and a gaze so intense that I find myself waking up a bit more. "Your mother has gotten into a car crash and she has been taken to Resurgam in critical condition."

I feel my heart skip a beat and my arms limply drop to my sides, but I'm not panicking yet. Dr. Kimishima's white face becomes a blur and I think I've stopped breathing but I'm not panicking yet. I'm not bursting into tears or screaming at the top of my lungs. No, sleep's tight hold on me prevents me from imagining my mother cut to pieces with glass or the blood that must be leaking out of her wounds. It isn't _critical condition_ for nothing.

I move silently as I rapidly wander through the darkness of my house and slip on a pair of rubber sandals and a tattered brown jacket. I find myself mutely following Dr. Kimishima to the car and securing myself into the passenger seat. We don't say a word as she drives through Portland's brightly lit streets, all of which appear as a massive, painfully vivid blur. By the time we arrive at Resurgam First Care – the best hospital in the area – sleep's weight has been replaced with a much heavier one that enables me incapable of moving my now paralyzed limbs. Dr. Kimishima has to open my car door and hoist me to my feet in order to get us moving. The world swims but I take a few steps forward and, after a few seconds of uncertainty, my vision clears. Together, we march along the brick pathway through the garden of wilted flowers covered in a thin layer of snow to the front entrance.

Inside the lights are bright and the air is warm, but I still feel like I'm standing outside naked with the winter winds whipping at my frail body. Dr. Kimishima leads me to a chipping plastic chair and gently pushes me into it. I collapse into it but continue to hug myself, either to warm my frozen body or to keep myself from panicking. I'm not sure which is correct right now.

I don't watch Dr. Kimishima speak in urgent whispers to the receptionist; instead, I observe the ground with such focus that my brain begins to hurt. The white floor is sleek and reflects the ceiling lights, but I see scattered specs of dirt and a piece of green fuzz left forgotten on the ground. I trace the edges of the tiles with my ochre eyes and then I quickly observe every curve of my shadow. My huddled body appears as a blob connected to an untamed mass of hair that flies out in all directions. I go back and forth between studying these two things – the tiles' edges and my shadow – because I just don't want to look anywhere else.

I'm not sure how long I stay there. At some point Dr. Kimishima sits beside me but I am so focused on the ground and my numb body that I can barely feel her intense gaze. There are times when my mind threatens to conjure images of my mother crippled or dead with a pool of blood surrounding her, but then I pinch myself and continue to study the ground, as if focusing on every inch of it will save her life.

Gradually, the din of chatter around me begins to grow as time passes but I don't move from my hunched position. The room becomes lighter as the sun begins to rise but my shadow is still there. I eventually feel a delicate hand on my shoulder, and I know who it is by just the grace that resides in that soft touch and her flowery smell.

Her small hand continues to rest on my shoulder as she sits quietly beside me. For maybe the first time ever, cheerful Alyssa is silent.

Strangely, the only thing that breaks me out of my intense focus is the sound of approaching footsteps. Many people have passed by me in the time I've sat here, but somehow I know that these footsteps bring news. I lift my head up for the first time since I've sat down to find a tan woman with cropped brown hair standing before me. Her hands are stuffed in her green and yellow EMT jacket and, though her cut off denim shorts and boots give her an intimidating appearance, her emerald eyes are soft and full of pain. She only has to look at me with those disconsolate eyes and I know.

I'm sixteen years old and I can't remember the last time I cried. Maybe I wept when I was young and suffering from a terrible disease, but I haven't since then. I can't even recall how old I was. Now, however, I feel the sobs pushing through the lump in my throat as my body crumples in on itself. I slip off the edge of the chair and fall to the ground. Squeezing my eyes shut in a pathetic attempt to fight off tears, I pull my long legs up to my chest and bury my face in my knees. The images of my mother bleeding on the operating table bombard my mind like a siege, and all I want right now is to see her sweet smile and brilliant dark brown eyes. I want to hear her complain about her bushy chocolate colored hair as she makes a mess of the kitchen with the latest recipe so read in her cooking magazine. I want her to call me her Little Genius even though I find it horribly embarrassing. I want to go back to when she told me that she would be coming home very later from her ridiculously-far-out-of-town meeting and tell her that I desperately need her to stay. Most of all, I want to tell her I love her.

But I can't. All of these moments don't exist anymore, and the only one that is still here is her corpse.

I sob for myself, for her, and for the injustice of it all.

* * *

><p>Two Weeks Later<p>

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><p>The car ride from the funeral to the Kimishima house is as silent as the dead. I sit in the backseat with Alyssa beside me, and Dr. Kimishima and her assistant, Agent Naval (or Little Guy as everybody calls him) are up front. The uncomfortable suit clings to me and I fiddle with the black tie that I know for a fact is trying to strangle me. I keep my eyes locked on the passing landscape of the distant city as we enter the suburbs of Portland. There is a pain in my heart as we fly past the beautiful houses with joyous families, something I will never have again. Sure, my family consisted of only my mom and me because my father bailed on us a while back, but we were all each other had and now I'm left alone.<p>

Dr. Kimishima has been kind enough to let me live with her and Alyssa in their home as she and her assistant try to figure out the plans for the rest of my life. I haven't gone to school since the accident and Alyssa has attended only a few times, but for the most part she keeps me company. We try every possible way to distract myself: board games, teaching me how to play the piano, mathematics, and even baking. When the day is done, however, I find that the hole in my chest is still as empty as ever and my mouth hasn't yet stretched into the slightest smile.

Yet I'm still grateful for their support, and every night before I slink off to the privacy of the guest room, I say a sincere "thank you" to both Alyssa and Dr. Kimishima.

The funeral went the same way as my longs hours of waiting in the hospital went: me focusing on everything but the people around me. I gave polite nods to people when they addressed me but I never looked them in the eye; rather, I studied their sleek ties or the sparkling necklace that graced their necks.

Eventually my head began to ache more than the rest of my body and I was able to rest in a separate room away from all the people. Alyssa sat beside me as I laid on the couch and focused on the feel of her supple fingers gently toying with my unmanageable green hair and her soft breathing.

I don't remember much of when her casket was lowered into the dark Earth. I vaguely recall kissing the tips of my fingers and pressing them against the cool metal of her coffin, and the touch sent chills through me. The rest of the time I could only think about how cold I became, how numb my limbs felt once again. Numbness is good though. It protects me from everything else.

Now the car pulls into a short driveway and the engine shuts off. Before anybody can move, Dr. Kimishima looks at me through the mirror with her intimidating cobalt eyes and announces calmly, "I must speak with Joshua alone. I'll see you two inside."

Little Guy and Alyssa exit the car without a word and we watch them as they walk up the stone pathway to the front entrance. Once inside, Dr. Kimishima twists in her seat in order to look at me face to face. Living with her has made her less formidable and I find myself comfortable when she begins to speak in her unshaken, relaxed tone.

"After reviewing your mother's will, Little Guy and I have finally finalized the arrangements for you," she begins and I feel my heartbeat quicken at the mention of my unpredictable future. "First, I should tell you that your mother left everything she owned to you. You will not, however, obtain the money or the property until you turn eighteen. In the mean time, I'll be responsible for it. The house will not be used but I'll pay to keep it from deteriorating."

She pauses and I feel my palms from inside my pockets grow sweaty from anticipation. I maintain a straight face though as she continues with a much more serious and cautious air in her tone.

"I have made contact with your father," she states and falls to silence again for just a moment. My heart skips a beat again, but I'm not as surprised as I thought I would be. The thought of my father had crossed my mind a few times before. Would he make contact with me now? But why would he? He wasn't around before so why would he with my mother dead?

"Your mother arranged it so that he would become your guardian if something ever happened to her. I'm not sure what happened between you three, but your mother wanted you to go to him so I think we should at least respect her wishes and try it out."

I look off to the side and stare at the door handle. I never knew why my father left us and, according to my mother, she never really knew either. Apparently one day she came home to find him gone. He was too much of a coward to say goodbye to her face, so why does she want me to be with him? I guess, in the end, he is all I have left and that is just pathetic.

"But, Joshua," Naomi adds quickly before I can become fully lost in my thoughts. "I've decided that we are going to meet your father at lunch and talk things over, so you won't simply show up on his doorstep. Then, if that goes well, I want you to try and live with him for at least a month, but if you truly cannot stand being with him then we will gladly accept you back in this house. I can become your guardian or I can even adopt you if you wish, whatever you want to do, but I believe that we should try having you live with your father…. For you mother's sake."

I nod instantly. For my mother's sake. I'll be polite to my father for my mother's shake. My excessive sleeping, unruly green hair, lanky body, and sarcasm she always blamed on my father, but she had never associated my good manners to him. It was a characteristic that she said most youth didn't have, and she was very proud that I was one of the few who did.

But I don't need thoughts of my mother to make an overwhelming feeling of gratitude swarm inside of me. I stare at Dr. Kimishima's intense cobalt eyes in an attempt to see if she is joking or not. She isn't, of course, because she doesn't joke. Her offer of adoption is completely serious, and it makes me feel relieved to know that I have something to fall back on. I'll be connecting with a father I've never met before but Dr. Kimishima, Alyssa, and Little Guy will be there for me if all else fails.

Taking a deep breath, I whisper, "Thank you."

She only nods before exiting the car. I follow suit and then wonder if I should hug this woman who has sacrificed so much for me, but Dr. Kimishima is not the hugging type and that is fine by me.

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><p>My heartbeat quickens every time I think of the upcoming lunch where I will meet my father for the first time. For the next three days I try not to fret over it, and then Friday passes, then Saturday, and before I know it it's Sunday morning and I'm getting dressed for this lunch. The restaurant isn't anything fancy – just a seaside grill – but I still try to look the best I can in a navy blue t-shirt, the tattered brown jacket I wore in the hospital, and jeans. My face is pale yet clear for once and I even try to comb my crazy mass of green hair but it is no use. I'm still probably one of the skinniest kids in my grade but I can't really change that in a few hours, so with a shrug I exit the guest room and wait for Dr. Kimishima and Alyssa in the kitchen.<p>

Alyssa comes out in a cute red skirt with black leggings and a white blouse. Her russet hair is glossy and her emerald eyes look at me with kindness. A sweet smile spreads across her face as she takes a seat next to me on the couch. She slips her hand into mine and asks softly, "Ready?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Well, you'll always have me. Remember that, okay?"

I give her my best smile and she hugs my arm while placing her head on my shoulder. I appreciate her warmth and her flowery scent that fills my nose. For a moment I forget about what is soon to happen, but then Dr. Kimishima walks in and Alyssa disentangles herself from me and stands up. I follow suit and soon all three of us are in the car. Little Guy can't come, unfortunately, due to a huge load of work that both him and Dr. Kimishima had put off for a while.

For the most part the car ride is silent aside from a few brief sentences between Dr. Kimishima and Alyssa about her return to school tomorrow. I can tell that Alyssa doesn't want to but she isn't one to argue with her adoptive mother. In all honesty, I don't think anybody can argue, let alone win, against Dr. Kimishima.

I keep feeling negative thoughts about my father popping up in my mind but I try to push them away. This is the man my mother loved and cried over. She tried so hard to keep me from him but now I'm going to meet him at some seaside grill. I keep trying to think of how anybody could possibly leave the sweetest woman ever and I can only conjure absurd excuses, like government agents from some foreign country threatened to kill my mom and me if he didn't leave on a top secret mission, or aliens abducted him. Of course none of it is true and Little Guy did provide me with all the basic information about my father. Name: Gabriel Cunningham. Occupation: head diagnostician at Resurgam First Care. Age: 41. Hometown: Montpelier, Vermont. Current city: Portland, Maine.

I always thought that he had fled Portland, and now it is strange to know that he has been here this entire time. Where exactly, I'm not sure, but what if I saw him on the street? Maybe I bumped into him on the bus? Saw him in a Subway?

Even stranger, I know his name. Gabriel. I whisper it and it leaves my tongue tingling. Did I ever say his name when I was learning how to talk? Or was he gone before then?

We eventually find a parking spot among the busy streets and walk through the snow-banked sidewalks toward the restaurant. As usual in winter, the air is frigid and my breath appears as a white puff. With my hands stuffed in my pockets, we quickly march down a block and then rush into the warm restaurant.

It is a wide place with fishnets lining the wall and fake sharks hanging from the ceiling. The place is bustling but we have reservations and quickly get a seat in the back beside a huge window that looks out over the deep blue ocean. I see a few vessels slowly crawling across the choppy waves but there are no sailboats or kayakers out on this windy winter day.

Dr. Kimishima and Alyssa make small conversation as I fiddle with my glass of water and constantly scan my eyes across the people around me. They are all amongst their own friends or family, talking loudly as they tear apart lobsters or clams. Whenever the bell rings by the door I instantly snap my gaze there to study to newcomers, but the men are always with somebody else and, therefore, not Gabriel.

Ten minutes pass and he still isn't here. We tell the waitress to wait a little longer to take our orders. Another ten minutes tick slowly by but there is no sign of him. Once a full thirty minutes is gone Dr. Kimishima exits the restaurant to make a phone call. She returns soon with a frown on her face and, in a heavy voice, she says,

"He can't make it."

I feel my heart drop just a bit and disappointment begins to fill my mind. She flags down our waitress and we order some food but I'm not hungry.

"I'm sorry that he couldn't make it, Joshua," Dr. Kimishima sincerely apologizes while taking a sip of her water.

"Don't worry," I quickly reassure her. "It isn't your fault, and I shouldn't have expected him to show up. I was a fool to think he would want something to do with me after all these years, and a dead mother won't make a difference."

I try to say it casually but I can hear my own bitterness and sorrow showing by the end. I want to continue to say how he doesn't even deserve the term "father". I wasn't planning on calling him that but now he won't even get the acknowledgement that we're related. He's just Gabe. I might as well be an orphan because I'm starting to realize that this guy is dead to me, but I restrain all of this in fear of my voice betraying me. I'm starting to feel like I can only trust the Kimishimas now.

"Don't worry, Joshua," Alyssa whispers while placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. She tries to sound determined but I hear the uncertainty in her voice when she says, "I'm sure he had a good reason. Right, Naomi?"

Dr. Kimishima nods and answers, "Something came up at the hospital. We can arrange another lunch or dinner with him again…"

She drifts off when I shake my head and, with a stronger voice this time, I decide, "No, I'll just meet him for the first time when I move in with him."

Both of them send me incredulous looks but I'm confident with my decision. He can't hide from me in his own home, and all of this hype has made me just want to meet the man and get it over with.

"Are you sure?" Alyssa asks nervously and I nod.

"Then it is settled," Naomi declares and crosses her legs while placing her hands on her knees. "I'll arrange a time with Gabriel for you to move in. How soon would you like it?"

"As soon as possible," I decide.

"As soon as possible," she echoes and whips out her cell phone to call him up.

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><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_This is my newest story where it is kind of like a ficlet, because I'm not making it as super intense as my other chaptered stories. And by this I mean there is no uber complex plot (well there is one, just not uber complex) or major themes. This story is really just for fun and something for me to post because I hate writing a ton of stuff but not posting it, so I'm hoping this will fulfill me. Of course, it doesn't mean that I'm not going to try to make it a good story, just that it is more for fun and something that I couldn't resist doing._

_Also, I don't actually know where Gabe was from. I just made up Montpelier, Vermont because it seems like a place where he could be from. Whatever, it isn't that important._

__Reviews are always wonderful because feedback is awesome, and I very much appreciate critiques! :)_  
><em>

_Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!_

_~~Wave~~_


	2. Smoke and Elevators

Chapter Two – Smoke and Elevators

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><p>My hands are sweating and my body is aching from hauling my enormous duffle bag and suitcase up five flights of stairs. I'm irritated at the elevator for choosing today to be broken. I'm irritated at myself for not being strong enough to carry those bags (in my defense, though, I don't think any normal person is strong enough either). And I'm irritated at Gabe who must know I am coming but who doesn't have the decency to meet me at the apartment's lobby and help me with my bags. I'm not surprised by this, but my heart is still pounding in my chest and my throat has gone dry as I stare at the wooden door before me with the numbers "536" printed in gold letters. 536. Gabe. He's right past this door.<p>

The thought makes my legs weak. I think of something else, like the apartment building itself. It's a simple short, brick building that is easily overshadowed by the other taller, sleeker structures surrounding it. If it wasn't for Dr. Kimishima's familiarity with the area (apparently her and Gabe are friends) then I'm sure I would have missed the modest apartment dwelling. And while it seems almost a little rundown on the outside, the lobby has a clear marble floor, a dazzling gold chandelier, and plush crimson couches. The halls are lined with baby blue wallpaper and the carpet is soft underneath my feet. The only negative aspect of this building is that the damn elevator decided to be "out of order" for me, as if it thought the workout could add some muscles onto my underweight body.

And then my train of thought brings me right back to my aching muscles, my irritation for the elevator, and then Gabe. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I decide that it is time.

My hand is shaking as I knock on the door, and my knock is pathetically weak, like the kind I would use on my mother's door for when I wanted to gently wake her from her naps.

And then I just stand there with one hand resting on my suitcase and the other limply holding onto my obnoxiously bright yellow duffle bag's strap. I struggle to keep a calm, indifferent exterior while I secretly fret about whether or not he heard my tiny knocks. What if he isn't even here? Maybe he had to go to work again? Crap, I probably shouldn't have insisted on going up here without Dr. Kimishima, Alyssa, or even Little Guy.

The doorknob's sudden twist interrupts my frantic thoughts and my heart skips a beat. With a tiny creak, the wooden door slowly swings open. The tall man standing in the threshold with one hand on the doorknob and the other stuffed in his pant's pocket can only be Gabe.

The entire morning I had been wondering what I would say to him once I finally met him. I promised my mother I'd be polite for her sake, so I couldn't say anything along the lines of, "Wow, it's nice to meet you after sixteen years of your abandonment!" Instead, I planned on just saying, "Hello. I'm Joshua. I'm you're son." It would be short with little emotion, and if he were a complete dunce then he'd need not to use his burnt out brain to determine that the boy standing before him is his son.

As I look at him now, however, I know that I don't have to introduce myself. _Anybody_ can deduce from our similar appearances that we're related. We are so related that I'm actually scared. He has my uncontrollable mass of dark green hair – or should I say I have his? – except his is longer and tied back in a sloppy ponytail. His eyes are a fierce amber color and, though his are smaller than mine and circled by wrinkles, they're sharp and calculating as he looks me over like I'm one of his patients.

We even have a similar build. We're both tall, skinny guys with narrow yet long feet. Unlike me, however, his shoulders are broad and fill out his dull, orange suit, and he stands a full head taller than me with an air of confidence. He has a square chin and stubble that gives him an I-don't-give-a-shit look.

I then realize that this man is the same doctor who diagnosed me a few years back when I was sick with Wermer's Syndrome. Whenever I thought of him it was with admiration for his skills in observation; or I thought of him with a smile whenever I recalled a conversation between him and his robot companion, RONI. Now I just feel ashamed of myself that I didn't make the connection between this Gabe and the Dr. Gabriel Cunningham on the papers Little Guy showed me. As I look at him now, though, I don't feel the same admiration as I once did. After comparing our insanely similar appearances, all I can focus on is the crinkled cigarette hanging out of his wide mouth.

"You smoke," I say with the same amount of subtle bitterness as one would say, "you're late."

"Err…yeah," he mumbles with his cigarette expertly clenched at the edge of his mouth. His voice is gruff but not scratchy like most smokers. There is sense of permanent confidence in his tone, even if it is very miniscule right now. His ochre eyes look everywhere but at me as he cracks a terribly forced, crooked grin and adds, "You're mother never liked the habit either."

An awkward silence falls between us as I just stare at him while wondering where has he been all these years. What did he do on my fifth birthday? Or Christmas? Does he have family that he celebrates Thanksgiving with? Most importantly, why did he leave?

For what I know even my mother doesn't understand what happened between them. She admits that they fought more often than usual, but she never believed that it would be enough reason for him to abandon his wife and newborn son.

And to top it all off, my mother hates smokers. As a child she would go up to random strangers and tell them they will die because they're smoking, so did she love this man that much to tolerate his horrible habit? Maybe he stopped for her at one point, or maybe for me? For all I know, he could have started smoking because of me.

He then clears his throat and says awkwardly, "So…do you need help with your bags?"

I definitely could use the help but a part of me wants to prove to this man that I'm not as weak as I might appear. Fighting off the aches in my body, I lift the duffle onto my bruised shoulder and squeeze through the door with my suitcase in tow. Once inside I am assailed by the pungent stench of smoke. I instantly begin coughing and water builds up in my eyes.

"You okay?" Gabe asks – surprisingly he sounds concerned – and rests a hand on my back. I flinch away from him and send him a warning look through my watery eyes. I see a flicker of hurt when I shield away from him but I don't mind. That's what you get for making this place smell like an ashtray.

"I'm fine," I say quietly while trying my best to inhale as little as possible. "Where should I put my stuff?"

"I cleared out a room for you, follow me," he replies a bit more confidently now that he has something to do. Without asking he picks up my duffle and I'll admit that I'm grateful not to have to lug it around.

I don't get a lot of time to observe my surroundings as we walk from the front entrance to a door tucked away in the corner of the large space, but I've got keen eyes and I'm quick to memorize the area. To the left is a leather couch with a few holes in it and a coffee table that has an ashtray on top of a stack of newspapers. In front of the couch is a wide T.V. but the screen is covered in layer of dust and a stray chip bag is hiding behind it. Up against the off-white wall is a few shelves filled with medical books and some old magazines. There is a plush green chair in the other corner and a fake plant beside it; my mother used to always say that people with fake plants are just too lazy to give it a little water.

I can tell he tried to clean up only a few minutes before my arrival. The garbage can is filled to the brim with bags of chips and cardboard boxes, and the small closet to my right is open just enough for me to see that it is stuffed with his coat and other various objects that he can't afford to throw away. At least he tried to be a little neat and I appreciate the effort, even if it was last minute. I suppose that is another trait we share: sloppy life styles…though that is a bit of a stretch. Only after a few seconds I can tell that he is a lot worse than me.

Inside my new bedroom the stench of smoke isn't quite as strong but it is still present, which means that I'm not okay with it. It's a smaller size than my room back at my real home but it has a nice view of the night sky and drifting snow. Underneath the window is a single bed with two pillows. The covers are uneven and the pale blue blanket with green rings doesn't match the striped yellow sheets. At least the brown dresser and empty desk match the wooden floor, though it is hard to mess that up.

I watch Gabe effortlessly place the yellow duffle onto my bed, and then I notice a stuffed animal resting on the pillow. For some reason, I'm drawn to it and, stepping around him, I gingerly pick up the fish. I run my hand over its faded blue "fur" (scales are overrated apparently) and I skim my finger across its tattered fin. Only one out of two burning orange eyes remain but it is enough to set an uneasy feeling in my stomach. All I can think about is how pathetic it is. It looks like life realized that it hates this stuffed animal and then decided now would be a good time to beat it to a one-eyed pulp. It has the same sadness in its frayed body as a boy who has lost his only family member, his home, and essentially normalcy.

"That's Fishy," Gabe interrupts my deep thoughts and I hear the small smile in his voice. "I got that for you when you were born and I found it the other day when I was clearing out this room. You loved that thing so…I thought you'd like to have it."

I don't have any recollection of this stuffed animal but naming it Fishy is something I would do because I'm _that _creative. I try imagining Gabe giving me this little thing, perhaps when it was in better condition and not missing an eye, but it just feels weird to know he actually gave me something before, so I quickly put it back down on the bed. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I mutter, "Thanks."

He's about to say something when the ringing of his cell phone interrupts him. With a groan, he brings it out of his pocket and flips it open. In an indifferent tone, he greets, "What?"

I hear the urgent murmur of a woman and Gabe's expression becomes sour as the person continues to speak.

"Look, Esha, I'm busy," he snaps with his crinkled cigarette still miraculously in his mouth. "Get somebody else to do it."

More yelling from the phone.

He rolls his eyes and grumbles, "I told you a few days ago that I was leaving work early and you _agreed to it_, so get somebody else."

He then snaps the phone shut and shoves it into his pocket.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Just work," he responds with a shrug and then his phone rings again.

He brings it open and yells, "I'm not coming in! Get somebody else!"

"Look," I cut in. "If you have to go to work that's fine. I'll just be here unpacking."

Gabe sends me an uncertain glance before asking the caller in a calmer yet still bitter tone, "How serious is it?"

I hear the woman begin to explain something but he cuts her off with another groan and complains, "Why would you hire her if she can't even do anything? Alright, fine. I'm coming. But you owe me!"

He then snaps his phone shut again and looks at me with sympathy. I don't really like that look because I should be the one pitying him; he has to be really messed up if he could leave my sweet mother.

It's also the same look I just gave the pathetic, lonely stuffed animal named Fishy.

"You really don't mind?" He confirms as he stares me down with his sharp ochre eyes.

"Not at all."

With a sigh, he runs a hand through his massive hair and decides a bit reluctantly, "Okay, I'll go. I probably won't be gone too long but there is some left over pizza in the fridge if you get hungry. If you need anything just call my number, which I left on the table. You sure you'll be okay?"

I nod and stuff my hands in my pockets. "I'm sixteen. I'll be fine."

"Sixteen…" he mumbles to himself while scratching at the stubble on his chin. I don't know if he realizes he is speaking aloud when he whispers, "Sixteen…has it really been that long?"

After an awkward goodbye, he grabs his doctor's coat in the over stuffed closest and exits the apartment. As soon as the door clicks shut, I fall back onto my bed and stare at the speckled ceiling. My limbs feel weak as I become overwhelmed with so many emotions: confusion, tension, bitterness, longing, excitement, but most of all sadness. My mother would cry herself to sleep sometimes, and as I got older I realized that it was because of him. I would then go into her room and let her hold me as she regained her composure, but now that I know how similar Gabe and I look, I'm starting to wonder if I only made it worse. Did she think of Gabe whenever she looked at me? I hope not. I don't want her to think of me as a smoker who abandoned her and wears weird colored suits, but she must have still loved him after all these years. Why else would she want me to live with him?

I close my eyes and listen to the outside world. The sound of the city's chatter is soft and relaxing, like Portland is whispering a lullaby to me, and I find my mind growing heavy with sleep, but I can't go to sleep now. I still have so much to investigate.

Pushing myself off the bed, I exit my rather empty room and return to where I first entered. The stench of smoke is still strong but I tell myself I'm getting used to it. A coughing fit won't help me in my exploration. Even though, I open all the windows and let the sound of the city streets flow into the apartment and the smoke leak out. After turning on a fan, I walk to a closed door in the other corner of the room. I open it, expecting it to be Gabe's room, but it's the bathroom.

Again there are signs of a desperate cleaning attempt. The sink and toilet have stains in it but the shower is freshly scrubbed and the toothbrush, toothpaste, shaver, and other toiletries are neatly arranged against the smudged mirror.

Uninterested, I exit the bathroom and travel through the remaining door that leads to a kitchen. It smells less of smoke but it isn't quite as cleaned up as the other rooms. There are a few empty beer bottles on the sleek black counter and I dump the ashtray into the overflowing trashcan. The dishwasher is currently running but there are a few remaining dirty dishes in the sink, and the odor they emit makes me think they've been there for days.

I check the fridge for food but only find a few pieces of pizza wrapped in a plastic bag, a case of beer, and left over Chinese noodles.

I sigh, trying not to compare this empty box to my mother's kitchen that was always crammed with an abundance of sweet fruits and strong spices, and close the fridge. Noticing another door, I walk through there and finally enter Gabe's room.

He obviously wasn't planning on having me in here because the place is a complete mess. The large double bed's sheets are spewed across the mattress and there is a pillow lying on the wooden floor beside a wet towel. Clothes – most of which are orange suits and ties – are scattered across both the bed and the tattered plush chair in the corner. Various books, papers, and other random objects cover the top of the dresser and more beer bottles are stacked on a desk in a corner. The laptop, which is probably the only high-class thing here, is turned off.

I pick my way around the clutter on the floor while wrinkling my nose at the powerful stench of smoke and resist the urge to cough. I'm not sure what I'm looking for exactly. A diary explaining why he left and what he has been doing all these years? Sadly, he doesn't seem like a diary kind of guy.

I find myself opening the drawer of the bedside table. It is full of three packs of cigarettes, crumpled notes, an old cell phone, and some cold medicine, but nothing that relates to my mother, myself, or any strange hobbies (example: axe murderer. I am grateful to say that so far I have no reason to believe he is an insane serial killer).

I then travel to the desk and look in these drawers but everything here seems to be paperwork for the hospital. I try the computer but of course Gabe is smart enough to not have "1234" or his birthday as his password. In a pathetic attempt, I pick up a leather address book and flip through it to the C's. No Cunninghams are listed here, not even his parents or siblings – not that I know if he has any. Not sure what else to do, I quickly scan the list of names on every page. I don't know many people who have an address book nowadays since cell phones are easier, and it seems that he only uses this for company names or fast food places. I do find a few people, but the only one I recognize is Dr. Kimishima.

I finally get to the L's and the first name listed is Lisa. Just Lisa. It's as if she is so significant to his life that he doesn't even need a last name because there is nobody else like her. The word Lisa is enough to capture her kindness, grace, selflessness, and love.

Or he was just too lazy to even write her last name.

I tuck the address book back where I found it and then approach the dresser. Aside from a bottle of shampoo, a couple of pens, and more papers, there isn't anything interesting here. I suppose I could search through his dresser but I find it weird rummaging through his clothes for nothing in particular.

With a sigh, I exit his room and decide to reheat the sausage pizza.

* * *

><p>I wake up to the sound of a gruff voice grumbling, "Damn, Joshua, you sleep worse than me."<p>

The only reason I'm able to snap my eyes open without a mental war against sleep is that I forget where I am for a moment. My reasonable conclusion is that a man disguised himself in a way that makes him and I look related so that he could sneak into my school, kidnap me, and then lock me in a smelly room.

He's lucky that my body is incapable of moving after the first five minutes of waking up, or else I'd be screaming for help and throwing random objects at him. Thankfully, it takes me only a few seconds to remember where I am before that can happen.

And that realization makes me feel out of place, like a fish out of water.

I had waited for Gabe to return so I could question him about everything, but hours passed with no sign of him so I resorted to storing my clothes away in my dresser. Somehow, I only got through the pants pile before falling asleep with the duffle bag as my pillow.

I sit up, rubbing the ache in my neck and the small pain coming from my side. Looking down, I see Fishy's one orange eye glaring at me and I realize that I must have been sleeping on that thing all night. Just the thought of it being so close to me is reason for vexation, so I instantly swat it off the bed. Sleep's paralyzing effects are still lingering, thus making my hit embarrassingly weak, but it was enough to make the tattered stuffed animal tip over the side and land on the floor without a sound. I then look at the alarm clock resting on the bedside table. 7:36 on a Saturday morning. Wow, Gabe must have some kind of gift if he can wake me up this early.

"And I thought I was a deep sleeper," he mumbles to himself with his cigarette still expertly hanging out of his mouth. He then straightens his shoulders and shoves his hands into his orange pant's pockets. In an uneasy tone, he asks, "So I have to go to work now but I'm not quite sure…err…what to do with you. You can come with me if you want. There is always something to do at a hospital."

He says the last part a bit crossly but I find myself nodding and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, which is Cunningham talk for I'm-too-tired-to-argue-with-you-so-yes. That is why my mother always asked me for favors only minutes after I woke up. I really need to stop falling into comas every time I go to bed because, frankly, it isn't really working in my favor.

Looking bored, Gabe exits the room and leaves me some privacy. I yawn loudly, my ochre eyes still mere slits, and I take a sniff at my clothes. Yuck, they smell like smoke. Everything probably smells like that now.

After dressing into a new pair of jeans and a white swim team t-shirt, I pull on my tattered brown jacket and head out to meet Gabe by the front door. He's leaning against the wall with a new cigarette popped into his mouth and a thick plume of smoke curls up from the butt of it. His tense shoulders instantly relax and a daze passes over his amber eyes as he breathes in the hundreds of toxic chemicals.

I stand in front of him with my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets and ask, "Is there a CVS by the hospital?"

"It's about two blocks away. Why?" He responds curiously while smoke swirls out of his nostrils.

"Because I need to buy an air filter."

He's sharp – I'll give him that – because he instantly understands what I'm referring to (though it wasn't _that_ difficult). With a mixture of annoyance and defiance in his eyes, he shoves his freshly lit cigarette into the nearest ashtray. He then looks at me expectantly, probably hoping I'll thank him for his selfless act, but I just open the apartment door and begin to walk down the hallway.

We silently descend the stairs and into his rusty beige car that screeches whenever the passenger door is opened. Surprisingly, the back is fairly clean aside from a few chip bags and beer bottles, and there are only a total of two holes in the leather seats. It does reek of smoke, however, and I instantly roll down my window as he tries to start up the car. It takes him three tries and a few curse words before the engine sustains its life.

"Piece of shit," he grumbles while pulling out of the underground garage and into the crowded city streets. We drive along the back roads fairly quickly and I just stare at the mounds of slush along the curbs and the people rushing down the sidewalk. The winter sky is a blanket of swirling grays like the colors of cigarette smoke. After a few minutes, Gabe inquires casually,

"Do you know how to drive?"

"I have a permit," I dully reply because sleep is still weighing on my mind and the stench of smoke makes my stomach churn. The freezing winter air bites at my face but I refuse to roll up the window.

"Oh, that's cool…" he mumbles as we turn the corner onto an empty road. After a few more seconds of awkward silence, he inquires, "So, how is school going?"

"I don't know," I answer with indifference. "I haven't been in about a month."

"Well, you'll be returning to school next Monday, so I guess that's exciting."

"Not really," I say and he forces out a chuckle. We fall into another minute of silence until I ask as nonchalantly as I can, "Why couldn't you make it last Sunday? For lunch, I mean."

"Something came up at work," he replies in a suddenly emotionless tone as the cold wind ruffles his unruly green hair.

"You like to work a lot," I comment as we halt at a stoplight and the bright red glow reflects off of the dirty snow alongside the road.

He actually laughs at my comment like I just made a joke. "Enjoying work…that's a good one. I hate my job," he corrects with a crooked grin and wicked gleam in his amber eyes.

"You like it enough to skip out on lunch," I argue in the best apathetic tone I can muster and his grin fades.

"I didn't skip out on lunch because I _wanted _to go fix everybody else's problems. I'm a doctor and lives were on the line; therefore, I go to work."

I want to argue just for the sake of arguing, but I remember my promise to be polite so I let the subject drop. We ride for a few more minutes in silence before he can no longer stand it and he turns on the radio.

"What music do you like?" He asks while the talk show host rambles on about some latest celebrity gossip.

"What music do _you_ like?" I counter attack with my dull tone, because I'm not in the mood to open up to this man yet, even over something minute. The way I see it, I get to ask the questions and he answers them.

"I don't really listen to music," he admits gruffly.

"Then why'd you turn it on?"

"Cause I thought maybe you'd enjoy it!" he snaps while clenching his teeth. "Sorry for trying to be nice."

The good, polite side of me feels guilty for lashing out at Gabe, but I won't let myself experience these emotions because for once I want to be superior to Gabe. My entire life he has been the one that I've always wondered about, but now he can wonder about me while I am learning everything I want about him. He's the confused one now, not me.

To my great relief, we pull into a parking garage that is right next to Resurgam First Care. When he shuts off the engine it roars once before falling to silence, like somebody sneezing obnoxiously loud, and then the door screeches again as I exit the crappy car. We won't look at each other as we walk to the elevator, and in there we stand as far apart as possible.

It isn't until I actually see the massive white building that I remember the night of my mother's death. I hadn't focused on my surroundings then like I usually do, so the touches of gold and the enormous clear windows on the building are completely new to me, but my body goes weak when I look at the familiar sight of wilted flowers covered by a layer of snow. My breathing becomes heavy as we walk through the same path that Dr. Kimishima and I marched through that night. I vaguely remember her having to lead me through it as fear's heavy weight crushed my mind. Following Gabe through it now causes my heart to ache and makes me feel like my head is buried underneath mounds of soil. I want to turn back but my legs keep moving as if I have lost all control of them, and before I know it I've slipped through the sliding doors and into Resurgam like a fish slips into the mouth of a hungry shark.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_I'm really surprised that I powered this chapter out so far – and this is REALLY fast for me – so don't expect such quick updates this often. This being said, I should warn you that I am going to be on vacation from July 1__st__ to July 17__th__ so there will be a big lack-of-update gap then. I will have more details on that in my profile soon._

_I'm trying to stop having such long ANs like I usually do, so I'm just going to say that I've introduced the key symbol of this story, which is also the title. I'm not going to say what it symbolizes though because where is the fun in that?_

_The emotions in this story are probably the most important yet difficult to portray, so critiques and reviews are excellent! Speaking of which, thank you _**risefromgrace16** and **Indochine Ramera** _for your awesome reviews last chapter! I really appreciate them!_

_Thanks,_

_~~Wave~~_


	3. Unwanted Reminders

Chapter Three – Unwanted Reminders

"_This _is your office?" I ask incredulously as I look over Gabe's excuse for a workspace. It is a smaller, yet messier version of his apartment. The pungent stench of smoke hovers in the air as an invisible, evil cloud that makes my lungs cringe. Bags of chips, patient files, coffee cups, and burnt out cigarettes are scattered across his coffee table, just like the one back in the apartment. Beside his door is a narrow bookshelf filled with thick medical texts draped in layers of dust. Diagrams of internal organs are posted on the dull green walls, and I notice a few empty picture frames lying on top of the probably empty fridge.

I step forward and stand beside the faded yellow couch, which is so frequently used that the cushions have sunken from a constant weight. There is something strange about this room. It gives me an odd feeling, like if the walls could speak then they would whisper about the true nature of Gabe. I can imagine him sitting on the couch, hunched over with his arms resting on his knees and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I wonder what he's thinking about when he sits there. Me? My mother? Work? Or something else I don't know about? I feel as though all the answers are here, yet they are so deeply hidden that I don't know where to begin looking.

Gabe walks forward and stands beside me with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his cigarette hanging lazily out of his mouth. He looks at me warily and admits uncertainly, "I can't tell if you're amazed or disgusted."

I cock an eyebrow at him but I guess I can see what he means by "amazed." Most offices I know don't have a couch and a full sized fridge, nor are they equipped with a shower in a nearby room. There is also an unusual, high-tech computer lurking in the corner behind us. Its monitor is propped up on a portable metal stand and the screen displays a pulsing blue orb that almost resembles a beating heart. For some reason, it looks terribly familiar.

"Good morning, Dr. Cunningham and Joshua Cunningham," a robotic yet feminine voice comes from the computer and I jump in surprise.

"Ah, shut up, RONI. It is too early for you to speak," Gabe groans as he throws his car keys into the dump of objects on his coffee table and rubs his tired amber eyes.

"You must be mistaken, Doctor. I become active whenever you are in the vicinity, and there is a 98.7 percent chance that my internal clock is accurate; therefore, I am not early but exactly on time," she responds in her monotone, static voice.

"Because you're just _so_ smart!" Gabe snaps irritably as he boots up his computer on the desk. "Why can't you go get some robot friends, get drunk, get a hangover, and then stay in bed all day and away from me?"

"I am a machine and machines do not have feelings so I am unable to 'make friends,' and I am unable to drink any form of liquid or else –,"

"Joshua, meet RONI, the most annoying invention in the whole world," Gabe grumbles without looking up from his computer as he scrolls through his e-mails.

RONI…I remember her now! Memories of this computer and Gabe arguing come flooding back to me and I almost smile as I recall their silly antics.

"I have already met Joshua Cunningham, Doctor, exactly six years, three months, twenty-two days, one hour, and forty-nine minutes ago," RONI adds and Gabe clenches his teeth as his hands curl into fists.

"RONI. Shut. Up. Now."

Thankfully, the computer finally takes the hint and remains silent. If she hadn't I think Gabe would have started beating her to a pulp.

The room is still as I watch him scroll through his endless amount of e-mails. After about a minute his face relaxes and he runs a hand through his unruly green hair. With a sigh, he collapses into his desk chair and looks at me curiously.

"So, what do kids do for fun these days?" he questions casually while sinking deeper into the chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him. I merely shrug as I study the diagrams hanging on the wall rather than look at him.

"What? You just stare at the wall all day?" He persists in an increasingly aggravated voice. I'm considering asking him about the reason for his abandonment now, but his irascibility is making me cautious. Rather than getting straight to the point like I want, I respond dully,

"No."

"And are you always this terse?" he scoffs.

"Don't you have work to do?" I retort, and I finally shoot him my best intimidating stare.

He frowns at the mention of his job but asks RONI, "When is the first patient?"

"In exactly thirty-six minutes and twelve seconds," she replies and her screen brightens with the sound of her voice. "There is also some paperwork you must complete."

"When do I ever do that shit?" he grumbles.

"Thirty one percent of the time, Doctor," she responds and Gabe rolls his eyes.

I don't like standing in his office, mostly because the powerful stench of smoke is overwhelming, and because I need to get away from Gabe for a while. Standing up straighter, I announce in my best I-won't-take-no-for-an-answer tone, "I'm going to go take a walk. See you later."

"Walking around a hospital," Gabe mumbles as he returns to his computer. "Yeah, that's a normal fun thing kids do these days."

I roll my eyes and exit without another word.

* * *

><p>I don't know where I am going, nor do I really care. As long as I don't enter the waiting room where I first heard the news of my mother's death then I'm good. I won't let myself think of it, but as I watch nurses and doctors rush about the golden hallways I begin to imagine that night all over again.<p>

I envision men in white, flowing coats and women in pink nurse uniforms sprinting down the hallway, screaming at nobody in particular to prep the OR. In their sweaty, tight hands is the gurney that carries my unconscious mother. Her dark brown hair is drenched in sweat and blood, and her usually tanned skin is as white as the sheets around her. These clean sheets, however, soon turn the same deep shade of crimson as her blood.

A lump forms in my throat as I wonder where Gabe was during all of this. Was he at the hospital during the accident? It's unlikely since I doubt he'd be around at three in the morning, but then how did he take the news when he learned of her passing? Did he even care?

My heart is pounding painfully against my ribs and I feel a drop of sweat slide down between my shoulder blades as I keep imagining that horrible night. Maybe Gabe tried to help…or maybe he just stood by watching his wife's life slip from this world.

My breathing becomes shallow and my footsteps tiny. I can now only wonder about what her final thoughts were before death. Were they of Gabe? Me? What if people think of something stupid before death, like what they want for dinner or what is on T.V. tomorrow night? I don't know why, but that thought depresses me even more.

To my great relief, yelling from around the corner breaks my train of thought. I step forward and peer around the wall to see a Hispanic woman with cut-off shorts and cropped brunette hair rebuking a helpless looking man. Both of them are wearing green and yellow EMT jackets that reflect the lights from above.

The Hispanic woman grabs the helpless man by his collar and brings him close to her furious face that is ablaze with rage. With a booming and terrifying voice, she screams, "Stop loafing around on the job and actually do something useful, moron! You're lucky I was there to cover your stupid mistakes!"

She then shoves him away and he stumbles over his own two feet until he collides with the wall behind him. I'm debating on interfering (though I don't think I'll be strong enough to handle this raging woman) when a tall man clad in a white seems to appear out of nowhere. He wears an unusual uniform that clings to his skinny limbs and his large doctor's coat floats behind him gracefully when he walks. His long black hair hangs around his face, and even though he is a few meters away, I can see his startling crimson eyes staring right at me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and my vision becomes a little blurry. A pain suddenly erupts in my stomach. Crap, I haven't eaten anything since last night. Gabe is just _such_ a good guardian that he forgot to feed me this morning.

"Maria, stop," the man says in a soft yet strong voice. The woman, Maria, spins around and places her hands on her hips. Pissed off, she snarls,

"And why the hell shouldn't I beat him to a pulp? He almost broke the victim's leg more!"

With her back turned away from the other EMT, the assaulted man instantly sprints towards me. I only get a glimpse of his panicked expression before he rushes past me and down the corridor.

"Shit! Now he got away!" Maria bellows and glares at the somber eyed doctor beside her. The man doesn't respond, however, and just keeps looking at me, and of course I'm totally creeped out (yes, "creep" is a verb now. Ask any teenager and they'll agree). Maria then follows his gaze and sees me down the hallway. I'm starting to regret not running away before, but doing so now would just be weird.

"Gabe?" She yells with annoyance in her booming voice. "Why didn't you stop that moron from running away!"

She marches to me with powerful strides, and the man behind her follows her with graceful steps that make him seem almost ghostly. Once she is a few meters away from me, her snarl disappears and she freezes, probably because she realized that I am not Gabe. I feel my heart drop when I recognize her large emerald green eyes that are suddenly filled with the same despair the night of my mother's death; just looking into those eyes told me the horrible news and brought me down to tears. It is one thing to wander around the hospital where my mother died, but it is another to have the bearer of bad news in front of me again. Damn you, Gabe, for bringing me here.

"Joshua?" she asks with a sense of wonder in her tone, as if she is surprised I'm alive. "Holy shit, you got so big!"

Ugh, why does everybody say that? It's not like I'm some mutant child who was never going to grow past two feet. Besides, I saw this woman only a few weeks ago and I doubt I've grown any taller since then.

We're about the same height, I might be a little taller than her actually, but I've never felt so unstable on my long legs. The world spins and I blink a few times to make it stop. The blood is rushing to my head and I try to make an acceptable reply, but whenever I look at her I just see my mother's face in a coffin.

"Joshua, are you feeling all right?" The male doctor inquires in his soft voice as he leans forward and studies me with his piercing crimson eyes. He is right next to me but he sounds like he is whispering from down the hallway. I feel my brain go numb for a moment and the next thing I know I'm laying on the floor with the two doctors hovering over me anxiously. I feel clammy and my whole body is shaking as black specs dance across my eyes.

"W-what…?" I mumble as the male doctor slips a hand underneath my back.

"You just fainted, Joshua," he whispers though his voice still sounds distorted. "Take deep breaths and rest for a moment. Does anything hurt?"

"N-no," I stammer as I follow his instructions and Maria pulls a half full bottle of blue Gatorade from her pocket.

"After a few seconds you need to drink this, okay?" she orders, and though her tone is strict I can see the compassion in her emerald eyes. I nod and begin to carefully push myself up into sitting position with the male doctor supporting me. As she dips the fruity drink into my mouth, she says in a surprisingly soft tone, "I'm Maria and this is CR-S01, but you can just call him Kid. We've met before."

She pulls the drink away and I swallow it gratefully. As much as I loathe the subject, I reply reluctantly in a weak and bitter voice, "Yeah, when my mother died."

She forces the drink back down my mouth and I quickly swallow the Gatorade as she explains, "Not then, about six years ago when you were here with Wermer's Syndrome. I helped you when you went into Septic Shock, and the kid here operated on you."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, especially since I don't remember either or them, so when she removes the drink from my lips I just mumble, "Oh. Thanks."

"Joshua, do you know what might have triggered the fainting?" CR-S01 asks in a concerned tone as he lies me back down on the floor so that the blood can return to my head quicker. "Are you dehydrated? Have you eaten breakfast?"

I open my mouth to reply but my stomach answers for me when it suddenly roars with hunger.

"Tch, Gabe is such an asshole," Maria grumbles to herself as she glares down the hallway even though nobody is there. "He can't even feed his own kid."

"I didn't even realize I was hungry," I mumble in a pathetic attempt to defend Gabe, because I must admit that I can't fully blame him for my fainting.

"I'm sure you are just overwhelmed with everything that has been happening to you lately. That combined with your hunger may have triggered your fainting," CR-S01 explains as I push myself up again and Maria offers the Gatorade. I drink it without her help this time as CR adds, "We'll put you in a vacant hospital bed to rest for a bit but I'm sure you will recover quickly."

I hand the drink back to Maria and nod in thanks. Pushing myself off the ground, I manage to stand on my shaky legs and they rise with me. Though I don't want to, I let them take me into the nearest patient room and push me down into a bed. I want to get out of this hospital but my head is pounding and my limbs still feel like jelly, so I close my eyes as Maria leaves and CR-S01 grabs a tray of hospital food.

It is a tiny room with fancy metal machines that flash and beep rhythmically like the contraptions are communicating through Morse code. There is an empty table beside the door across from me, and the blinds on the only window leaves a stripped pattern on the orange walls. When I was here for Wermer's Syndrome, I had a larger room that was flourished with gifts from my classmates, because fourth graders are more excited than concerned when their friend is operated on twice. I had immense popularity for a month after my surgery, but that mostly involved kids giving me their cookies. It makes me wonder what the other students will be like once I return to school.

With my eyes closed, I listen to CR-S01 open a packaged sandwich and a bottle of water as I take even, deep breaths and struggle to think of nothing, but my mother's face keeps popping up in my head relentlessly. I would give _anything_ to go back to the way things were before the accident. I'd rather forever wonder who my father is than to have to be in these circumstances. Thankfully, CR-S01's voice distracts me from my remorseful thoughts.

"Eat this," he whispers, and I open my eyes to find him standing beside me holding the sandwich out for me.

The moment my fingers make contact with the mushy bread, my stomach grumbles and I finally realize how agonizingly starving I am. All thoughts on my mother and Gabe vanish as I devour the food like a savage animal. CR-S01 looks unfazed though as he waits for me to finish my sandwich so that he can give me the water. I'm barely aware of his calm crimson eyes watching me as I finish the last piece of the sandwich. After drinking some water, he gives me more hospital food but I don't even realize what I'm eating.

"Are you feeling better, Joshua?" he inquires as he stands against the wall, as if being within a few feet of me is unacceptable. He keeps his eyes focused on the floor so that his raven black hair hides his pale face.

"Yeah, thank you," I reply with more strength, which is reassuring to me. The short silence between us is broken by the sound of voices from behind the door. CR-S01 and I can easily hear their argument travel through the paper-thin walls

"Hold it, Gabe!" A fierce woman orders and, while I only know a tiny percentage of the people who work here, I figure the speaker must be the irascible Maria.

"What now?" The man – who is Gabe, of course – groans and I can imagine his teeth clenching on his burnt out cigarette in an attempt from lashing out.

"When I say take better care of him, I don't mean just buying him food," Maria replies in a defiant tone, and I have a good hunch as to who she is referring to when she says _him_. "You need to stop smoking, or at least establish a smoking room, 'cause you're going to kill Joshua through second hand smoke if you don't."

"Look, I don't need a lecture from you about the dangers of smoking," Gabe protests but Maria is quick to cut him off in her powerful, demanding tone.

"I don't give a damn about how you decide to ruin your body, but Joshua is stuck with you and your disgusting habits. You might be a crappy father, but you can at least _try_ not to kill him."

"Anything else?" Gabe asks and, though he tries to sound indifferent, his tone is laced with fury.

"God, you're such a asshole!" she yells, and I glance uneasily at CR-S01 but his emotionless gaze is focused on the door. "I can't believe Joshua agreed to live with you after meeting you at lunch! You can't take care of yourself, so how are you going to take care of a teenage boy?"

"I _can_ take care of myself and I _can _take care of him!" Gabe retorts and I'm beginning to experience that awkward feeling you get when you listen to people talk about you behind your back…or in this case behind the door. "And, for the record, I never went out to lunch with Joshua, Naomi, and the girl. Ha! You're not as smart as you think you are!"

"What? Why didn't you go out to lunch with them?" Maria questions bitterly.

"I had to come here," Gabe quickly replies and there is a tense moment of silence between the arguing doctors.

"Last Sunday. You skipped lunch. To come here," Maria clarifies.

"Yeah, so what?"

"You don't work on Sundays, moron!" she yells. "And don't say you were covering for somebody! I remember it was a really slow day last Sunday, so I went to go bother you but you weren't in. You didn't come to work on Sunday, so why'd you skip out on lunch?"

"It's none of your business, Maria!" He utters through clenched teeth and his tone is threatening, but it doesn't stop me from quickly pushing myself out of bed. The world spins for a moment due to my rapid movements, but I fight through my vertigo and make it to the door before Gabe runs away or something of the sort.

I swing the door open just in time to interrupt whatever insult Maria was about to throw at Gabe. They're both frozen with their mouths hanging open, ready to yell at each other, and their surprised eyes are set on me like I'm a ghost who just popped out of a toaster.

My head is throbbing from either my recent fainting on the sudden fury that has ignited inside of me. With my burning gaze set on Gabe, I inquire in a dangerously low voice, "Why didn't you come last Sunday?"

Gabe blanches a little and glances at Maria, but of course she won't help him out of this one. He can't hide now.

"Joshua, I can explain," he says in a bit of a frantic voice but I cut him off sharply.

"Okay, explain. Explain why you didn't come to lunch and then lied about your reason for skipping."

He looks stunned by that, probably because he doesn't have a good explanation. After a moment of just staring at me, he sighs and runs a hand through his tangled green hair. "Look, Joshua," he mumbles with his cigarette still hanging out of his mouth. "It's complicated."

"It's actually not complicated at all if you stopped trying to think of a good excuse and tell the truth," I retort, and I'm pleased to see that he is only a few inches taller than me so he can't look down on me like he did back when I was ten.

"You want the truth? Fine!" He groans in exasperation. "I wasn't ready, okay? I just…wasn't ready."

Something in me snaps. In all honesty, I barely know him, but he is the antithesis of what I always imagined my father to be like: kind, strong, responsible, healthy…everything a good father should be. He doesn't meet those requirements – not even close – and I need a family member now more than ever, but all he needs is his damn cigarettes.

"You weren't ready?" I repeat incredulously with my voice rising. "What? Did you need another sixteen years to realize that you have a son?"

"Hey, it is one thing having a son, and another thing _having_ a son!" he argues with his voice rising to meet mine.

"Well, I wasn't exactly ready for my mom to die and then have to go live with a guy who probably doesn't even own laundry detergent, but at least I am trying to get my life better!"

"Is that what you want?" He shouts with irritation shining in his ochre eyes, and I notice Maria edging away like we are a bomb about to explode. "Laundry detergent? Some clean dishes?"

"Ugh, never mind!" I groan and begin marching down the hallway as fast as I can.

"Where are you going!" He calls after me as my heart pounds against my chest and my shoulders shake. Without turning around, I shout,

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I'm your dad!" He responds strongly and I freeze at the end of the orange corridor. I find myself gritting my teeth as I spin around on my heels and focus my eyes on his proud, tall figure a few yards away.

With my head throbbing and my hands balled up into tight fists, I utter venomously through clenched teeth, "You are _not _my dad."

* * *

><p>The second I'm outside in Resurgam's wilted garden, I make a run for it. I'm not one of those kids who loves running for fun because they somehow manage to get high off of it, but I can't stand being in that horrible building any longer. My long legs carry me over the snowy ground and down the short driveway in mere seconds. The freezing air numbs my lungs but the heat from my running gives me new strength as I sprint across the empty road and down the sidewalk. I easily step around people and maneuver past a group of thirteen year olds who think they're cool because they're hanging out on a Sunday morning in the city streets. I feel tears stinging at my eyes but I won't let myself cry. I don't care that Gabe's a failure – of course that doesn't really help my situation – but I just want my mom back.<p>

I want my life back.

Running comes easily to me now. The streets become narrower and traffic heavier, but I swerve between all the obstacles with the grace of a gazelle. Everybody around me moves at a lazy pace while I'm rushing past them on my toes, begging my body to go faster and faster until I become lost in the city streets.

I sprint up and down slush-covered sidewalks for probably ten minutes before I finally find what I'm looking for. Though I feel like I could run away forever, I slip inside the CVS and let the store's warmth defrost my now damp and chilly body. The large white room is fairly clean and, like most fairly clean places, it doesn't smell like anything. For once I'm in a place that doesn't reek of smoke.

I instantly snag a cart from the wall and walk towards the closest isle that contains soap and shampoo. My fingers drum against the handle and my heart is pounding in my chest. The argument with Gabe lingers in my mind and makes my blood boil, but I take deep breaths as I focus on the task at hand.

I don't know the brand that my mom usually bought, so I just grab whatever looks familiar and throw five bottles into the plastic cart along with a pack of a dozen bars of soap. Frustration is still clogged up in me, waiting to burst out, but I manage to bottle it up as I make my way to the next isle and grab three boxes of trash bags. My breathing is heavy and I'm feeling terribly weak as I walk down the isle as my eyes scan the thousands of items that line the selves. I try to read the labels but water builds up in my eyes and soon the world becomes a blur.

Thankfully, nobody is in the store aside from a bored, acne-covered cashier and a middle-aged woman with fake blonde hair in the pharmacy section. Neither of them can see me sink to the ground as my body breaks down. My head rolls back against a shelf full of toys as I pull my legs close to me. I feel my ribs push against my lugs as I take deep breaths to calm myself down. In an attempt to distract myself, I stare up at the blinding lights and try to imagine those Christmas mornings when I'd sneak into my mother's bed and pester her until she woke up. It was a rare occurrence for me to have woken up before her; she was up all night wrapping presents while I was too excited to sleep.

Somewhere during the hour of me bugging her, I'd give her a break and just stare up at the lights above like I'm doing so now. I close my eyes and try to recreate that memory. The warmth of the covers, her enormous yawns, the strong smell of coffee….

I feel a tear fall down my cheek and land on my lips, leaving a salty taste in my mouth. I instantly rub my watery eyes. Crying never helps, it just makes you look like an overemotional wimp.

"Joshua?" a kind, baritone voice whispers my name from a few yards away, and I jump in surprise at a man's sudden appearance. Standing to my left at the end of the isle is an enormous – and I mean muscles-so-huge-that-they're-going-to-burst-out-of-his-shirt enormous – dark skinned man. His doctor's coat barely goes past his waist because he's so tall, and the sleeves cling to his bulky arms. His massive pecks are about to pop out of his V-neck navy blue shirt that is tucked into a large white belt with a silver eagle on the buckle. His black pants and shiny white shoes make him look like Elvis on steroids.

I quickly push myself off the floor and wipe the remaining tears on my face as he walks closer. His footsteps are quiet and he moves with an athletic grace, like a gentle giant.

"Y-yeah…who are you?" I stammer and make myself look into his eyes, except that is difficult to do since his eyes are mere slits. If it wasn't for his slicked back green hair, I would have thought him to be Asian. I now realize that he's some kind of cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger, a disco star, and an Asian man.

"I'm Doctor Hank Freebird," he introduces himself with the gentlest voice I have ever heard. He stops about two yards away from me and smiles. "Though your dad calls me Big Guy."

I frown at the mention of Gabe and ask in an irritated tone, "So did he send you here to bring me back?"

He pauses for a moment before responding carefully, "No, he asked me to make sure you're okay."

"Then why didn't he come himself?"

"Because he said you wouldn't want to see him."

I fall silent to this comment because the good, polite side of me is still here and it is making me feel guilty for lashing out at Gabe. I have a right to be pissed at him, but my conscience doesn't seem to feel the same way.

"What are you doing?" He asks and tilts his head towards the cart.

"Just buying the necessities that Gabe lacks," I respond in a calmer voice.

"Did he give you money for this?" He asks in his worried voice, as if being around me is reason for caution.

"I have a debit card," I answer as I begin pushing the cart in the opposite direction since his body is blocking the other exit. He follows me though, and adds with a smile,

"My fiancé makes some really delicious food, and they even taste great as leftovers. I lived off of those before we finally moved in together a few years back. I'm sure she'd be happy to give some to you."

I want to tell him that I'm not some charity case, but I manage to refrain from making the insolent comment and say instead, "Thanks, but I'm all right."

"Are you sure?" He insists. "Cooking has really helped her through some difficult times, so she has developed a passion for it and now loves giving her food to anybody who will take it. You might not want it, but you'd really make her happy if you took it."

Oh, he's good. He makes it seem as though I'd be doing her the favor rather than the other way around. And even though I'm clever enough to see through his tactic, I have to award him for his craftiness, so I agree to take the leftovers; however, he still continues to follow me around the store.

We travel to the food isle and I grab a random assortment of items: a bag of chips, two cereal boxes, a carton of applesauce, three boxes of granola bars, trail mix, pancake mix, and a few cans of soup. During my search for the cheapest things I can find, Hank keeps rambling about how delicious his fiancé's food is but I don't really pay attention. He doesn't stop talking until we reach the next isle where I stare blankly at dishwasher soap. It isn't until now that I realize I've never had to actually start the dishwasher before, so I don't know what soap to purchase. The knowledge makes me feel stupid, which is ironic I suppose.

Hank notices my confusion and he picks a colorful orange and blue box off of the top shelf. "This stuff should do for Gabe's dishwasher," he says with a confident nod before tossing it into the cart. "How many do you want?"

"Might as well get three more because we're gonna need it," I mutter unhappily as he tosses in some more boxes, though I'm grateful for his help.

We then get to the air fresheners and I sweep my arm across an entire row and dump them into the cart. I can only hope that those long hours of babysitting with Alyssa and the few times I life guarded will pay for all of this.

Hank doesn't speak again until a few isles down when I'm throwing in a package of cheap tissues because I feel like Gabe's the kind of guy who uses his shirt to sneeze on. He speaks slowly, as if he is choosing his words carefully, but his tone is incredibly sincere.

"Joshua, you have solid reasons to be upset with your father, and you have every right to know why he left you and your mother…" he pauses and my heart beats a little faster at the mention of my mom. I can feel his gaze following me as I pretend to look busy grabbing a few bottles of fabric fresheners. His voice is gentle when he says, "But you should know that, even though he was not around, Gabe loved your mother. I'm positive that he still does, but he is not very good at…expressing emotions."

He hesitates again, as if he just confused himself, before concluding with a sigh, "What I am trying to say is that, like you, Gabe is affected by Lisa's death, and not just because you two are living together now. I'm sure he is mourning on the inside, he just likes to bottle things up. Do you…do you get what I'm trying to say?"

I finally turn to look at him, but only because I'm confused by his personality, not his message. This man is some kind of emotional macho Dr. Phil teddy bear. It's throwing me off my game.

"So…you want me to cut him some slack?" I clarify uncertainly, and I just notice how thick his neck is when he nods vigorously.

"It is a rough time for both of you," he adds. "You should go easy on each other."

I nod only because I want to get away from this man and be alone for a while. He's nice, probably too nice for his own good, but he is obviously a friend of Gabe's – probably his only friend – and therefore on his side.

But he follows me. I go the bored, acne-faced cashier and pay with my debit card, and Hank scoops up all the bags with his massive arms. I open my mouth to protest but he is already marching out the sliding doors and heading back to Resurgam.

I sigh again and reluctantly follow him back to the hospital while dreading an awkward reunion with Gabe. The moist air makes me shiver and I can see my breath as misty white clouds. I stuff my frozen hands into my pockets and think of my mother and the fond memories between us. Somehow, my thoughts eventually drift to that pathetic stuffed blue fish lying forgotten on the floor in Gabe's apartment. I imagine its one orange eye staring up at the world around it, wishing to travel to some place better but loathing the fact that it can't.

It's eerie how similar Fishy and I are.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_I just want to let you guys know that I am going to be in China from July 1__st__ to July 18__th__, so I won't be able to respond to any messages or write/update between those two dates. It's a long time, but hopefully I can put update the next chapter once I get back before I leave for Ireland._

_Thanks __**Indochine**__**Ramera**__, __**disneytiger**__, and __**chibi**__-__**chinta**__ for your awesome reviews last chapter! I always enjoy feedback, and critiques are very much appreciated._

_Thanks,_

_~~Wave~~_


	4. Fish Out of Water

_Author's Note_

_Hey guys, I'm back from my trip to China! Sorry for this chapter's delay, but I didn't bother to bring my computer with me so I couldn't even write. I'm also going to be traveling AGAIN next Wednesday, July 27__th__. I'll be heading to Ireland this time but I'll bring my laptop with me so I might be able to respond to messages and work on the next chapter._

_Anyways, thank you __**Disneytiger**__and __**Indochine Ramera**__ for reviewing last chapter!_

_Also, I have a new poll up on my page, so please vote. :)_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter and I love feedback. It's the greatest gift a reader can give._

_~~Wave~~_

Chapter Four – Fish Out of Water

Rain. I have never truly appreciated its calming effects until now. My mother used to go on and on about how the rain made these dirty city streets beautiful, but I always believed that sunny days are better than gray skies. As a child I would tell her that the clouds are peeing, in which case rain is terribly disgusting. She would just laugh and shake her head before gazing with admiration and longing at the rain again.

I'm lying on my bed in Gabe's apartment while staring out at the rain just like she always did. I watch the droplets slide down the blurred window and then combine with other droplets, like old friends reconnecting. I find myself holding my breath so that I can only hear the gentle drumming of the rain falling against my window.

I close my eyes and focus on the sound. If I concentrate, I can almost hear my mom whispering to me how gorgeous the city lights are in this weather. The thought only makes the ache in my chest worsen.

I force my mind to drift to other, less emotional thoughts. After an incredibly silent car ride home, Gabe and I returned to the apartment and we each went into our respective rooms. I had intended to unpack, but I found myself admiring the way the water swam down the window and soon I was lying on my bed just listening to the rain.

The ringing of a doorbell shatters the wonderful calmness of my world. I clench my teeth in frustration as the high pitch note shoves its way through my relaxed mind and rekindles my previous aggravation. For a few moments I struggle to hang on to that connection I feel with my mother, but the sound has severed the emotions I was experiencing. Groaning, I throw myself out of bed and march to the front door. I'm not surprised that Gabe hasn't answered it; he seems like the kind of guy who answers the phone only once a year.

I don't even try to hide my vexation when I swing the door open and I openly scowl at the visitor. A boy about my age stands in front of me with an expression so bored and cross that it must make me look like the happiest teenager alive. His thin lips are pulled into a deep frown and his almond brown eyes are glazed over, not really focusing on anything, and his pupils are dilated. The black shirt, black pants, and black boots gives me good reason to believe he likes the color black (I'm smart like that), and his poorly cut, spiky brown hair adds to a tough, apathetic vibe that I'm receiving. His odor is as strong at Gabe's cigarette smoke but it is sweeter, though not in a pleasing way.

Yet somehow this classic, angst-filled teen is standing on my doorstep with a plate of steaming chocolate chip cookies in his hands. And he's as high as a kite.

Although his eyes aren't focused on me, he somehow realizes that I'm not who he expected. "You're not Gabe," he comments in a confused tone and I just nod. He blinks twice before a wide smile spreads across his pale face, and then his almond eyes suddenly light up as if he just won the lottery.

"Oh, hey! You're Joshua!" He announces with enthusiasm in his permanently mellow voice. "Yeah, we are in the same history class together."

I can only frown at him as I struggle to remember his face. History class. This kid.

Not a clue.

He chuckles and admits with a friendly smile and an unusually loud voice, "You probably don't know me. S'okay, a lot of kids don't. The name's Justin. I've been in your grade since kindergarten.

Thanks for the guilt trip, Justin. You're totally stoned but still remember my name while I feel like I have never seen you before in my life.

"Oh yeah, hey, Justin," I respond casually as if I actually remember his face. Eyeing the cookies suspiciously, I ask, "What are you doing here?"

"My mom's too drunk to take care of me, as usual, so I'm down the hall with my grandma," he explains in a suddenly quieter tone for no apparent reason. "I've been spending time with her for years, and she always sends me down here to give Gabe some of her cookies because she thinks cookies make every grumpy guy feel better."

His wide grin returns and he holds out the tray of steaming hot cookies for me. I take them as he continues to explain, "I always thought you and Gabe looked real similar, and I was going to ask you if he was your dad a long time ago but then…I don't know. I think I forgot."

The dull glaze reforms over his almond eyes and he stares out into nothing. I frown at his obvious addiction. I don't have time for another drug addict.

"Thanks for the cookies, Justin," I say and, even though I try to be polite, it comes out dryly. "See you in school."

"But wait!" He stops me and holds the door open with a strong hand. His eyes are set on me but they aren't really focused as he inquires, "Your mom died, right? That's why you're with Gabe now. Because she's dead."

"Good job, Sherlock," I mock in a bitter tone. "Bye."

Justin's mouth opens but I close the door with a satisfying _click_ before he can say anything more.

I walk to the coffee table and balance the plate of cookies on top of an empty beer bottle and a box of pop tarts. The cookies appear appetizing and I bet the chocolate chips are melting, but I'm not hungry. Forgetting the cookies, I lean against the window and watch the clouds' pee drench the earth.

* * *

><p>I'm hoping that, unlike the rest of my life, school will be the only normal thing I have left.<p>

But it's not.

It looks the same as it always has before – a massive brick building on the edge of town with stiff red carpets and graffiti on the once white walls (they're almost brown now) – but so many things have changed. I walk in hoping that nobody will give a shit about me, but I'm observant. The other kids try to be discrete when they nudge their friends and whisper about the return of that boy with the massive green hair and dead mom. I hear one boy tell his friend that he thought I died. Great.

I shrug it off though and head to my locker. As I spin in the combination, I tell myself that they'll forget about it soon enough. People don't generally like to talk about dead people that they don't know, and I'm sure the gossipers will soon be busy when the lacrosse girls commit another crime. It's been three months since they last got caught drinking. New record.

I lift the handle but my locker won't budge. I try again. Nothing.

Suppressing a groan, I begin spinning the lock around and reentering the combination. No success once again. I restart and this time focus on the numbers I am entering, but this only causes me to realize that I don't even know my combination anymore.

Shit.

I slam my head against the cool metal and listen to the loud chatter around me. My body is tense, like it is constantly stressed and ready to snap at any moment. I'm not a short-tempered guy, but lately I feel myself becoming furious in only a matter of seconds.

I take deep breaths and force myself to remain calm. Stupid locker. Whatever, I'll just carry my stuff with me all day.

Feeling better, I head to my first period class, AP Chemistry, but Mr. Stein isn't there. Instead, there is an enormous woman dressed in all pink who looks so round that she could roll down the stairs and the tons of blubber would protect her from getting hurt. A permanent frown creases her pudgy face and her beady eyes stare at me curiously through her half moon glasses. Her gray hair is pulled back in a bun so tight that it stretches her wrinkly skin. She waddles towards me and, in a nasally voice, asks, "What?"

As aggravating as she seems, I explain in a polite tone, "I'm Joshua Cunningham. Where's Mr. Stein?"

"Jail," she answers like it's no big deal.

"Are you joking?"

"He was caught having an affair with a student. I'm Miss. Piercing, the new chemistry teacher. Who are you?"

I blink a few times and try to get the horrible mental image out of my mind. Wow, Mr. Stein, way to make it to the top of the creeper list.

The bell rings and she snaps her beady eyes away from me and to the few empty seats. The room falls silent and the students stare up at her with dull gazes, but most of them are looking at me. One unfortunate girl opens the door only five seconds after the bell has rung but it is five seconds too many.

"You're late!" Miss. Piercing barks with her nostrils flaring. The girl doesn't say anything and silently rushes to her seat. While Mr. Stein might be on top of my avoid-at-all-cost list too, at least his class was easy and fun because we never did anything. I like teachers that don't do their job.

She spends the next few seconds just glaring at the classroom, as if her loathing gaze will light them all aflame, and her round body inflates with every raging breath she takes. What a charming lady.

With the swiftness of a slug, she turns to me, looks me up and down, and asks again, "Who are you?"

I can feel all eyes on me as I sigh, "Joshua Cunningham. I've been gone for a few weeks and this is my first day back."

"Why were you gone?" She inquires in a harsh tone.

"Personal reasons," I retort.

"You smell," she states simply.

I frown and feel my face grow hot as somebody chuckles in the back of the room. "Thanks," I respond dryly.

There is a moment of silence between us with her just sniffing me before she points to the seat in the front corner of the room. I quickly rush to the desk and sink down into the chair.

As class goes on and on, I grow more frustrated with Mr. Stein. Why couldn't he have controlled his twisted desires and kept himself out of jail, thus staying a teacher and Miss. Piercing could continue to spend her days at McDonalds? Looks aren't important to me, but her scowl only adds to her unpleasant personality.

We spend half the class reading a textbook in utter silence, and of course I don't have this item so she goes on a five-minute rant about how unprepared kids are these days. The second half of the class involves her flipping through a dreary power point and I have to pinch myself to stay awake. At the last five minutes she drills us on the material we "learned" today, and if a question is answered incorrectly (which happens often) she releases a bird-like screech before calling us incompetent and then questioning the next person on the list.

I've never been more relieved to hear the bell in my life.

We rush out of the classroom while ignoring Miss. Piercing's yell about how annoying that bell is. I weave past other kids until I'm out in the now crowded hallway and walking briskly to my next class.

"Hey, Joshua!" I hear Alyssa's voice call out to me from behind and I sigh with relief. Turning around, I see her rushing up to me with her thumbs hooked around her pink backpack straps and her red floral dress swishing with her hurried movements. She grins at me and her emerald eyes sparkle as I fall into pace with her.

"Hey, Alyssa, how's it going?" I ask but she completely ignores me as she always does whenever she is excited.

"You have to tell me all about Gabe!" She demands and if it were anyone else I would blow them off, but it's Alyssa: my best friend and the sweetest girl I know.

Even though, I sigh and just shrug. "Well, he's a doctor."

"I already know that," she informs me as we weave past an approaching couple. "Was he happy to see you?"

I hesitate and just stare at the pair of pink high-top converses walking in front of me. Was Gabe happy to see me? Well, he certainly didn't _look_ thrilled but he didn't seem to be completely loathing the situation either. If Gabe had been happy to see me though, then he wouldn't have waited sixteen years to make an appearance.

"I don't know," I reply uncertainly with a shrug. I pause for another moment before I finally release some information. "He smokes."

As predicted, Alyssa's face drops and her pink lips dip into a sympathetic and disappointed frown. For as long as I've known her she has always despised anybody who smokes. She once yanked a cigarette straight out of a stranger's mouth, and I had to pull her back multiple times later when she tried to do the same action to other people.

She sniffs and wrinkles her nose. "You smell like smoke," she comments in a much less cheerful voice than before.

"It's that bad."

"What else can you say about him?" She asks in a hopeful tone while looking up at me with her wide, deep green eyes.

We travel up the staircase together in a thick crowd of students and the chatter gives me a moment to consider my reply. I want to say how irresponsible, messy, lazy, and rude he is, but the last thing I want to do is make Alyssa worry.

"He's trying," I lie while focusing on the feet in front of me and trying to forget the fact that he bailed on us at lunch. Before she can pursue the topic, somebody calls out from behind us,

"Yo, Joshua! Wait up!"

We turn around to find a boy with frazzled brown hair and all black clothes walking towards us. Unlike yesterday, his almond brown eyes are clear and they keep flicking back and forth between Alyssa and me.

"Hey, Justin," I greet him casually but he just stares at Alyssa with emotionless eyes. They both stiffen up at each other's presence and have a ten second stare down before anybody speaks..

"Don't you have to use the bathroom or something?" Justin asks impatiently and Alyssa quirks an eyebrow at him. Placing her hands on her hips, she stands up straighter and retorts,

"Don't you have to go get high in the parking lot?"

I blink in surprise at her harsh reply but Justin just laughs. Grinning, he responds in his mellow voice, "Nah, that isn't until eleven."

She huffs and grabs my arm as she spins around. "Come on, Joshua, let's go," she grumbles but Justin interferes before she can drag me away.

"Cool it, Breslin," he orders in a calm yet smug voice. "I just want to chat with Josh here."

Alyssa frowns and looks at me expectantly through her long eyelashes. I feel uneasy under their stares, like I've just accidentally walked into the middle of an argument I shouldn't be hearing.

"Yeah…I'll see you later, Alyssa," I stammer and send her an apologetic look. She releases her grip on my arm and merges back into the crowd of students without a word.

"I don't understand why she doesn't like me," Justin comments casually with no concern as we begin to walk to U.S. History Honors together. "Whatever, it's not like she understands me anyways. She probably doesn't understand you, too."

"What do you mean?" I ask uncertainly.

"Look, you and I are a lot alike," he begins. "My dad died during the Rosalia outbreak and my mom wastes all the money on gambling and booze. We're both stuck with irresponsible parents and have to take care of ourselves. Alyssa doesn't have that problem."

It's strange how I have never noticed him until yesterday, yet he spills these personal facts out like they're answers to math problems. And to top it all off, he has a point. Maybe Gabe isn't as irresponsible as his mother (though it's too soon to tell) but we're definitely in a similar situation. It's somewhat of a relief to know that I have somebody who must be experiencing the same feelings as me.

He seems to sense my agreement to this whole I-understand-you-like-nobody-else thing, and his thin lips pull into a wide smile. As we stroll into our history class together, he whispers slyly, "I can help you get through this: you'll keep yourself on the DL and I'll teach you the necessities to living on your own and how to deal with the parentals."

"What's in it for you?" I inquire suspiciously as I suddenly become cautious around this guy that I barley know. His grin disappears and he stops in front of me. His somber almond eyes are bright and filled with a bottled up pain that has been shoved deep down into his heart from years of suffering. There is also wisdom in those eyes, so much that it is actually scary. In a suddenly grave and bitter voice, he states without hesitation, "Face it, Joshua, we're abandoned kids, and abandoned kids need to stick together."

The worst part is that he's right.

* * *

><p>I don't know how he does it, but Justin keeps me invisible. People don't gossip about my return or act super duper nice anymore. It's like anybody within ten feet of him gets to share his cloak of invisibility, thus being able to go through the day without listening to kids wondering where I've been for the past month.<p>

Unfortunately, his invisibility cloak came a little too late.

I'm just about to sit down in Pre-Calc when the classroom's phone rings and my teacher informs me that I have to go down to the guidance office.

I sigh as I exit the room and close the door on the chatting class, and I'm positive that they're all talking about reasons why I'm being sent down to guidance. I agree with them, too. The counselor will probably ask how I'm feeling and if I'm settling in well, and I don't really mind that, but I'm not in the mood to talk anybody right now.

Dreading the upcoming therapy session, I trudge down the hallway and two flights of stairs to the guidance office. The secretary points me to a room off to the side and I enter it with the most apathetic expression I can manage.

The square room is so tiny that it can barely fit a plush chair and a "wooden" (obviously plastic) desk. Motivational posters with cheesy sayings like "You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take" and "Every day is the first day of your life" cover the bright pink walls. Sitting on the other side of the desk is Mrs. Grand. Her signature delicate smile is plastered onto her pale, wrinkled face, and her dyed blonde hair rests on her shoulders. As usual, she's wearing her pink kitty sweater and, though I can't see her lower half, I'm positive that she has her tie-dye skirt too. The woman has _great_ fashion sense, but she makes up for it with her sweetness.

Standing beside her is a man I have never seen before but he is certainly one I would remember. His pale skin sags and makes his frown deeper and his crooked nose look abnormally large. Dressed in a tight navy blue suit, he stands with his hands clasped behind his back and his glittering black eyes watching my every move.

"Joshua, it's so good to see you again!" Mrs. Grand chirps in a sincerely cheerful tone; there is nothing forced about her enthusiasm. "Please, have a seat."

I plop myself down into the pink plush chair and spread my long legs out in front of me. For a moment I just stare back at the mysterious man, but then I quickly scan all the trinkets on her desk: cat hairbrush, cat stapler, cat scissors, cat pens, cat erasers, cat mouse pad, and (here's the exciting part of her collection) a dog clock.

"How are you doing?" She inquires with her hands folded together on top of the desk.

"Fine," I answer simply, not really in the mood to talk.

"Did you have a good first day back?"

"Yes."

"Everybody is treating you well?"

"Yes."

I see her lips twitch and I'm reminded of Gabe when he asked me if I was always this terse. At least I was honest with him.

She pauses and just looks at me for a moment, as if assessing my appearance, before her smile drops and, squirming in her seat, she explains uneasily, "Joshua…one of the faculty members brought it to my attention that you…that you're…."

She opens her mouth and closes it like a fish lacking air. The man beside her steps forward and leans toward me. His thin lips spread into a tight smile as he says in a lucid, deep voice, "Mr. Joshua, I'm the new vice principal, Mr. Pouvoir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Great, another change to my once normal life.

We shake hands and his grip is painfully tight. I try to have an equally strong hold but it is just awkward. As I slip my hand away, I inquire, "What happened to the old vice principal?"

He leans back and clasps his hands behind his back again, but his black eyes never leave mine. "Mr. Carson experienced some serious health issues last week and I'm filling in for him," he explains with a sense of pride in his voice. "For how long I will be here is indeterminate, but that won't stop me from trying to help out anybody in need.

"The thing is, Mr. Joshua," he continues as Mrs. Grand looks up at him with a mix of admiration and fear. "We have received word from one of your teachers that you may be smoking cigarettes. According to Mrs. Grand, this isn't like you at all, so we want to clear some things up."

I'm stunned for a moment and I just stare stupidly at Mr. Pouvoir's emotionless black eyes for a few seconds. Of all the kids they think to be on drugs, they pick _me_? Have they not seen half the student body? And who could have complained about me? I remember Miss. Piercing's about how I smelled bad and my dislike for her grows immensely.

"Mr. Pouvoir, I assure you I am not smoking _anything_," I quickly tell him in a polite and calm tone with my palms facing up, as if I'm showing that I have no drugs on me.

"You are experiencing a very rough time in your life, Joshua," Mrs. Grand rushes in to say as her fingers fiddle with each other. When she talks she winces, as if saying this hurts her more than me. "Perhaps you think drugs are the best way to deal with your issues, but therapy, exercise, and eating well can help improve –"

"Really, Mrs. Grand, I'm not on drugs," I interrupt while leaning forward and placing a hand on the desk. "I'm living with…my dad now and he is a smoker. A bad one. Everything I own smells like smoke now."

I fall silent and we just stare at each other for a solid five seconds before her smile returns and she nods.

"I believe you, Joshua. You're too smart for such things."

A weight in my chest lightens and the corners of my mouth tug upwards. For some reason, her faith in me is a huge relief.

Mr. Pouvoir, however, doesn't share her feelings.

Adjusting his striped blue tie, he clears his throat and says in much more serious voice, "I know your father, Joshua, I encountered his impertinence when he diagnosed my wife a few months ago. I'm also aware of your current situation and I'm merely concerned for you wellbeing. I cannot imagine Dr. Cunningham to be the greatest guardian if he cannot even tolerate some of my excellent critiques on his diagnosing skills. If there is any problem once so ever, you let us know and we'll sort it out instantly."

His voice is soothing but I frown nevertheless. Does he really want to help me, or is he just looking for an excuse to get revenge on Gabe? I study his perfect posture, his sparkling gold Rolex watch, and the multiple rings on his finger. A proud, self-centered man. Just what the world needs more of.

I grit my teeth to prevent me from calling him out on this and respond in a grumble, "That won't be necessary."

"Are you sure?" He asks and opens his mouth to say more but I cut him off. Standing up abruptly from my chair, I reply coldly, "Positive" before spinning around and storming out of the office space.

* * *

><p>"Joshua, it's good to see you again!" Coach Madason greets me enthusiastically the moment I enter the indoor pool area. I feel my muscles relax as I inhale the strong scent of chlorine and listen to the clamor of splashing arms and legs. The pool lanes are filled with my teammates performing the warm up drills; the water a foamy white due to their constant powerful movements. I watch their strong muscles gracefully cut through the waves as their heads pop up for air every time they alter their forward arm.<p>

Though they all wear green swim caps, I recognize each person from the way they move – graceful and smooth or clumsy and weak. Peter, the captain, leads the warm up drills and powers ahead with the most intensity. Greg, Art, Kyle, and Luke keep right behind him while the rest, Phil, Sam, Nick, Austin, Ethan, and Jake, lag behind. Wes is flailing in the back, but he's working his hardest as usual. I never realized how much I missed my teammates until now when all I want to do is jump into that cool, refreshing water and listen to the rhythmic sound of my arms cutting through the choppy surface.

I walk across the wet spongy floor towards Coach Madason, a short man with thin brown hair and a blue windbreaker covering his beer belly. He eyes my jeans and t-shirt before asking, "No trunks?"

I shake my head and respond, "I just came for a visit."

He smiles and says in his usual friendly tone, "Take as long as you need, just know that you're always welcomed here. I have an extra pair of trunks if you want to just swim around for a little. We can clear a lane for you and you can do anything you want for as long as you want."

The offer is tempting and I find myself unable to answer. I should probably get home as soon as possible so Gabe doesn't flip out on me, but is he even home? And does he even care if I'm home or not?

The clamor of the swimming drills dies down and I notice that everybody is now hanging on to the edge of the pool and staring up at me. They're grinning like the goofs they are and their sparkling eyes are lined with red rings due to the goggles.

"Joshua!" Luke, my closest friend aside from Alyssa, calls out happily and soon there is a huge chorus of kids calling my name and splashing water in celebration of my return.

For the first time in a while, I genuinely smile and wave back at the guys. Now more than ever do I want to swim the warm-up laps with them, so I take Coach Madason up on his offer.

The second my body slices through the water and I'm enveloped in a mass of bubbles, all my thoughts about my mother, Gabe, Miss. Piercing, and everything else disappears. I concentrate on the sweeping movements of my longs arms and legs as I propel myself forward and deeper into the pool. I skim my fingers along the rough floor before pushing myself off the ground and coming up for air. Refreshed, I instantly dip back into the water and focus on the feel of my green hair swaying like seaweed in the ocean. Flipping onto my back, I admire the undulating lights above me and listen to the murmurs of my splashing teammates from the lane adjacent to mine. I turn to watch them soar through the cool water, bubbles flying around them like fluffy clouds. Their limbs travel in sync with each other, cutting the water as easily as butter.

I return to the edge of the pool and grab onto the edge. Crouching against the wall and regretting that I didn't put on my swim cap (having this much hair really slows me down), I engulf all the air my lungs can hold before shooting off the wall and diving down the lane like a bullet. I concentrate on keeping my arms straight while my kicking feet propel me forward until I have to come up for air. Taking another breath, I instantly lock into the rhythm of the freestyle. The movements of my strong arms, long legs, and rotating head come as easily to me as sleeping, and I let the noise of my pounding heart and the incessant splashing fill my mind. There is no Gabe right now, there is no dead mother, and there isn't even tonight's dinner on my mind. Just the water and me.

I don't keep track of how many laps I do, but I'm positive that it is more than the usual number for warm-ups. If my muscles weren't screaming for a respite, I would swim forever. I'd drive to the ocean, jump into the freezing salty water, and never look back. Maybe I could make it to Europe, but the destination isn't what's exciting. It's being in this water and forgetting everything.

But soon my limbs won't respond to my desires and I'm hanging onto the wall, panting and exhausted. My heart pounds in my ears and my chest rises with each shaky breath while my arms and legs feel like they're going to pop off. I don't even realize Coach Madason's presence until he says with a smile, "Feels good, doesn't it?"

I crane my neck back and squint to see him standing above me with his hands holding out a white towel to me. I openly smile at him before latching onto his wrist and he hoists me out of the pool. I fall on to my back and stare up at the high speckled ceiling as my chest continues to rise with my panting breaths.

Coach Madason places the towel on my chest and says with a smile, "Come back anytime, Joshua."

I don't respond but just listen to his fading footsteps as he walks away. I close my eyes and smile. This is my haven. The strong smell of chlorine, the constant hum of splashing water, the warmth from the massive vents in the ceiling, and the refreshing water. Nothing can touch me here, not even Gabe.


	5. Three White Tulips

Chapter Five – Three White Tulips

* * *

><p>I know it is impossible to return to the happy, typical life I once had, but I want to at least create a false sense of normalcy; however, I can't even get the chance to try. I find myself sleeping through most of school. Suddenly, it is impossible for me to fall asleep at night and I lay awake for hours. I eventually drift off around two or three in the morning, but before I know it my alarm is ringing in my ear and I'm staggering out the door. During my classes I can barely keep my eyes open and I continue to fall asleep at my desk, usually during A.P. Chemistry where Miss. Piercing has a grand time waking me by slapping a ruler on my desk and then sniffing me like a dog.<p>

The first two days of the week I was pushing myself to catch up on all the work I missed, but my once strong motivation for academic excellence eludes me as I complete my math homework by writing in random numbers, and I don't even bother with Spark Notes for _The Great Gatsby_. By Thursday I feel as though my body is gradually imploding on itself, so that all my organs will slowly cease functioning and my brain will become numb as I wither away like a freezing flower. I continue to swim, however, even though I take it slow and my body seems too tired to do anything.

Despite my desire to swim, my body is resisting me. By the time I'm walking home from another work out my eyes are drooping and I'm ready to curl up on the side of the road and sleep forever. My muscles are aching and they are tense from the cold February air, and water drips from my wet hair down my back. I stumble through crosswalks and it is a miracle I don't get struck by a car or walk straight into a pole. Somehow, I make it back to the apartment alive.

It takes me three tries to unlock the door because I go to the wrong one at first, and once I finally open the door I just want to crawl into bed and never wake up. My eyes are already closing as I walk into the apartment when a gruff voice asks,

"Where the hell have you been?"

The loud voice startles me and I'm surprised to see Gabe standing by the couch with his jaw locked and his shoulders hunched. For the past few days he has never been home when I returned from swimming, and he doesn't come home until around nine where I then hide in my room and pretend I'm asleep so I don't have to talk to him. His hands are in tight fists and his amber eyes are staring me down as if they have the power to make me speak instantly. I'll admit, his gaze is a little unnerving but I'm too tired to care that much.

"I was at swim practice," I mumble and rub my sleepy eyes as I begin to walk past him.

"You swim?" he gawks before shaking his head and refocusing on the real issue at hand. "Never mind. Sit down, we have some things to talk about."

I inwardly groan and turn around to face him. "Can we do this later? I'm really tired," I tell him but he shakes his head.

"It'll only take a minute. Just sit down."

I reluctantly flop down on the couch and he sits down on the other end. I notice that we are as far apart from each other as possible but I'm perfectly fine with this. I can feel my muscles relaxing and going into sleep mode but I force myself to stay awake and focus on what Gabe is saying; however, it sounds like a dull hum as I rub my eyes and I only hear half of it,

"…Rules to keep you safe. I thought about…I'm like a landlord…no stealing, vandalizing…Joshua? Are you listening to me?"

I blink quickly and rub my eyes again. Pinching myself, I nod and ask, "Sorry, what was that?"

He hesitates and looks me over with worry in his amber eyes, but then he sighs and glances down at a post-it note in his hands. When did that get there?

"I was saying that I thought about what you said last Sunday and you're right," he decides as he stares at the bright yellow paper. "I'm not your father – biologically, yes, but…you know what I mean. I'm like your landlord instead. I give you shelter and money for food and you follow a few rules. You can do whatever the hell you want as long as you don't break these rules, okay?"

He looks at me with a steady gaze and I nod because I'm simply too tired to speak my true thoughts about how it sounds like he's just taking any chance he can to avoid being a father. Though part of me doesn't blame him for his decision since I was sort of cold about the whole you're-not-my-dad-because-you-left-us thing.

Clearing his throat, he begins reading off of his post-it note, "Rule one: no criminal activity of any kind. You know, stealing, vandalizing, killing, etcetera. The basics. Rule two: There is no curfew as long as you leave me a note saying where you're going, and keep your phone on you in case something comes up. Rule three: you have to go to school even though it is a shit hole and you probably won't learn much. Rule four: don't join a cult. I hear those don't end well. Rule five: if you are in an angry mob, keep your elbows out so that you won't get trampled to death. Rule six –,"

"Where are you getting these rules from?" I interrupt while cocking an eyebrow. I had barely been paying attention but after the cult thing I was intrigued.

"I asked the other doctors for suggestions and this is what they came up with," Gabe admits, slightly exasperated, and he rolls his eyes when he sees my incredulous expression. "Whatever, let me finish."

Clearing his throat, he continues to read, "Rule six: don't be the asshole that farts in the car on a long road trip…. That one was from Maria. Rule seven: don't be framed and get stuck with a 250-year jail sentence…. I think Maria wrote that too. Rule eight: don't be a loser like Gabe – ugh, never mind!"

He throws the paper away but it gently floats down to the ground and he glares at it for a moment. Sighing again, he turns back to me and explains in a serious tone, "Don't do anything stupid, okay? That's all there is too it. Oh, and one more thing: don't ask me any personal questions. You do that and in exchange I'll only smoke in my room, all right?

No, not all right. "What can't I ask you personal questions?" I inquire suspiciously.

"Because I don't like talking about that sort of junk," he responds casually but I can see the anxiousness in his eyes. Even talking about talking about personal issues unnerves him. Interesting.

"But don't you think I deserve to know a few things?" I retort and I see his jaw lock again as he rests his elbows on his knees and props his head up with his hand.

"Maybe…. I'm giving you a choice here. Either know some useless information that won't change anything, or have a cleaner air supply which may give you a longer life."

"I have a right to know why you left," I warn him as I sense a now familiar feeling of agitation and betrayal burn within me. My hands grip the edge of the couch and I wish I wasn't so tired so that I could use my wits to get the information I want.

"And I have a right for privacy," he replies in an adamant and dangerous tone.

"What, you didn't get enough privacy in those sixteen years you were gone?" I snap and a flash of irritation flickers in his ochre eyes.

"First off, it was fifteen years, and I'm done talking about this!" He yells as he pushes himself off the couch and begins walking to the front door while reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the counter.

I stand up too and, even though my legs feel terribly weak supporting me, I march after him and argue, "You can't keep walking out to avoid every problem you have!"

He spins around so quickly that I flinch when his furious amber eyes are set back on me. His mouth opens but the ringing of his phone cuts him off and he groans instead.

"Don't answer that," I order as he reaches for his cell phone. "We're still talking about this."

"Not anymore," he grumbles harshly and I feel like he is barely restraining a string of curse words. Still in an agitated tone, he speaks into the phone, "What?"

As the person on the other line mumbles gibberish, all I can think about is if yanking that phone out of his hand and stomping on it will get me anywhere with this conversation. I imagine myself doing it and the satisfaction I feel at his horrified face is remarkable. A part of me craves it, but the sudden urgency of his tone makes me hesitate.

"Collins is back!" he gawks and all the color disappears from his face. His shock is quickly replaced with rage as he begins shouting, "Gregory Collins? You sure? …What is Esha thinking now! Getting Collins back? What the hell! I mean – shit, Esha! When I see her again I'll –"

His thunderous rant is cut short as the person on the other line begins speaking again. In the short time I've been with him I can already tell that Gabe has a short temper, but I have never seen him this angry before. A thick vein is pushing out of his neck and he clutches the phone so tight that I think he's going to snap it in half. His ochre eyes are burning with rage and nervousness as his other hand pulls his tie looser.

"Ugh! Of all the surgeons she could have chosen, she picked _that_ guy!" He groans loudly while pacing back and forth frantically. "Well, there is no way in hell I'm working with that bastard – oh, don't start with the whole people-can-change shit…. No, I really don't want to hear it…..Hank, seriously. Shut. Up. Now."

He has stopped moving and is now rubbing his temple with his other hand and his breathing quickens as he listens to Hank some more. After a moment, he sighs with exhaustion, "I'm fine. See you soon."

He snaps the phone shut, grabs his doctor's coat off the couch, and slips it on in one swift movement. As he opens the door, he looks over his shoulder and adds quickly,

"One more rule, Joshua. Don't ever talk to Doctor Gregory Collins."

"We're not done here!" I call after him but my words are ignored as he clicks the door shut and I'm surrounded by silence once again. For a few seconds I simply stand there with my heart beating in my head and my legs feeling weak. Exhaustion floods through me as I stumble to my bedroom. I'm tired of it all: Gabe, Miss. Piercing, homework, Gabe again, and just my new life in general.

I manage to step over my duffle bag that lies in the middle of the floor, but I don't care about Fishy. My foot smashes its face as I roll into bed. I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.

* * *

><p>I'm dead.<p>

No. I'm in a slump, but I am inert in both my body and mind like a rotting corpse under mounds of dirt. The night gradually swims by as I lay on my stomach surrounded by the darkness. I slip in and out of sleep, and when I'm awake I simply watch the bright red numbers on my alarm clock tick by. 11:00, 11:14…2:45, 2:49: 3:01…4:23….

6:00. Time to get ready for school.

_Get out of bed, _I urge myself. _Gotta go sleep in school and be called stupid by Miss. Piercing again_.

I try to move my arm but all I can do is twitch a finger.

Fuck it. I'm skipping.

I close my eyes and let my mind sink back into nothingness. Dr. Kimishima warned me about these kinds of slumps and before she distracted me in order to keep me from slipping into one. I'd rather be with the Kimishimas than with Gabe, but I can't find myself begging to go back to them. As kind as they were to me and as much as I love them, I cannot find it in me to feel like I belong there. I don't want to interrupt their already perfect chemistry.

My thoughts continue to drift to my mother. I remember the tiniest details of our time together, like how sad yet joyful she was when I passed the permit test. She said one of those silly you're-growing-up-so-fast lines and I replied, "You're growing up so fast too!" She swatted my arm for that but we both laughed.

When I was in the hospital for Wermer's Syndrome, I hid my symptoms so that nobody would worry about me. My mother was always fretting over me and I didn't want her to anymore. Did you brush your teeth? How'd that quiz go? I don't think you'll like dim sum….See? I knew you wouldn't like it.

The great thing about her was that she wasn't terribly embarrassing (she did have her moments though). She had just the right amount of protectiveness so that I wouldn't feel suffocated, and I know that there were times when she wish she could do more but I'd push her away. I wish I had accepted her help now, even if it was over a few math problems that I could do in my sleep.

Shit. That is what everything is to me right now. I feel like shit, my life is shit, and I probably smell like shit. Just…shit.

I say it in my head a few times. Shit shit shit shit shit. I try to speak it but my throat is dry and nothing comes out. Closing my eyes in defeat, I focus on drifting back to sleep.

7:20. School starts now. 8:20 and I have officially missed first period. I watch the numbers change and calculate how many classes I have missed with each hour. 10:30…11:45….12:50…1:00…2.00 and now I have missed the entire day of school. Maybe I'll have to redo junior year. That would be shit.

"Joshua!" Gabe's sharp voice jolts me awake and my heart skips a beat at the sudden noise. Groaning, I blink the sleep out of my eyes and look at the obnoxiously bright red numbers on my clock. 3:15. He's back early.

He begins speaking in an irritated voice but I close my eyes and struggle to block him out. My efforts are in vain however as his words break my once silent room. "I got a call that said you skipped school today," he explains in a bitter tone. "That was one of our rules, Joshua. You have to go to school, and if you are going to skip then you should at least fake a call in sick. That's just sloppy. I'm more upset about _that_ than you actually skipping and….Joshua? Have you been in bed all day?"

He suddenly sounds concerned now and I nod into my pillow. His worried voice is closer when he asks, "Are you sick? Have you eaten today?" I feel his hand gently rest on my forehead for a few moments before slipping away. "You're not hot," he mumbles. "Are you feeling nauseas or dizzy? Anything else out of the ordinary?"

"I'm not a patient, Gabe," I interrupt but my voice is weak because I barely have the strength to reject his concern. He leans in closer as I practically speak into my pillow, "Neither you or the other doctors can cure my sickness."

He hesitates and I close my eyes again. I can sense his steady gaze burning into me, probably scanning my body for a symptom, which he could then match up to a long, fancy name before sending me to another doctor to cure me. If only it were so easy.

"I know a few psychiatrists…" he offers weakly.

"Just let me sleep," I whisper and turn my head away from him while snuggling deeper into the covers. He's so close that I can hear his soft, shaky breathing and I can smell the stench of smoke that constantly surrounds him. A few more seconds tick slowly by before he stands up and leaves the room without a word.

3:29…4:02. My dull mind is disturbed once again by a knock on my door.

"Joshua?" a sweet voice calls out and I know it so well that I can recognize it to be Alyssa just from the way she says my name. "Can I come in?"

I can't help but wonder why she's here, though I'm also too tired to voice the question. Once she realizes that I'm not going to respond anytime soon, she slowly pushes the door open with a soft_ creak_. A sliver of yellow light cuts though my dimly lit room as she slips inside and closes the door again. I stay still and stare at the wall while listening to her soft approaching footsteps. The bed sags a bit when she sits down beside me and my heart flutters when she places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Joshua?" She whispers but doesn't say anymore. A few seconds pass before I take a deep breath and roll myself onto my back. The dull light from the gray sky illuminates half of her face and her bright green eyes stare down at me with sympathy.

"Don't look at me like that," I mumble.

"I'm worried about you," she says as she holds her hands in her lap. "Gabe is too. He called Naomi a while ago and explained to her that you didn't come to school. She told me this and then I decided to visit you and get you out of this slump."

I sigh and rub my sleepy eyes. The thought of putting in effort to get out of my listless state just sounds…tiring. And shitty.

"He looks a lot like you," she muses thoughtfully. "And you were right. He is trying."

"No he's not," I instantly correct her in a gentle tone. "I lied, Alyssa. He isn't trying."

"But he called –"

"Last night he told me that he doesn't care what the hell I do as long as I don't kill somebody or other shit like that. _I'm like a landlord_, that's what he said. Great parenting right there," I say flatly as she sends me a troubled look.

"I'm sure he is struggling with everything too," she offers before I cut her off again in a rushed tone.

"And you know what else? He won't answer 'personal questions,' so he's refusing to tell me why he left my mother, but I _deserve_ to know, right? But he won't talk about it. It's just…" I sigh again and push the hair out of my face. My palms are hot against my skin and I release a shaky breath as Alyssa gently rubs my shoulder.

"You are always welcome to stay with us," she comforts me as I regain my composure.

"No…" I breathe and stare up at the speckled ceiling. "Thank you, but I promised Dr. Kimishima that I'd try for at least a month. And I can't leave before I get the answers I deserve."

She nods and smiles softly. "Naomi tells me that Gabe's a very private man, so I guess you'll just have to be crafty about how you get your information. You're smart. You can do this," she reassures me and I nod. We stay there for a minute or two with my hands still holding back my unmanageable green hair and her body sitting next to me. I listen to her quiet breathing and focus on the feel of her fingers against my shoulder. Damn, I wish I had taken a shower this morning.

"Come on," she whispers. "Let's get you out of this room."

I hesitate but she is quick to urge me on some more, "Fresh air will do you good, and I'm sure you'd like to be away from Gabe for a while."

I close my eyes and muster up my tiny bit of strength. Somehow, I just can't deny her. Sighing, I nod and grumble, "Fine." She grins and tugs at my hand, pulling me up and standing in an instant.

I stumble about the room and the world spins due to my dull brain. I'm still wearing my black sweatpants from swim practice and my shirt smells like chlorine. She tosses me an orange t-shirt and my tattered brown jacket, and I slip both on with the grace of a tipping cow.

"See you later, Dr. Cunningham!" Alyssa calls out politely as she drags me through the other room and to the front door. The look of confusion on Gabe's face gives me a bit more strength to maintain her pace.

She keeps her hand in mine as we walk down the stairs (those damn elevators are still broken) and I feel that if she were to let go I'd slip back into my slump. I know I'm slowly crawling out of it, just standing up has helped a little bit, and the heat from her touch warms my numb body. Once we exit the apartment building, however, the freezing winter air chills me to the bone and I pull my jacket around me tighter. My ears are bombarded with the sound of the city streets – car horns, roaring engines, a car alarm, jazz music from a nearby street, and the noise of a television from an open window. I don't know where we are going or what's happening, all I know is that I really wish I had brought gloves with me.

Alyssa flags down a taxi and, after a quick conversation with the driver, she pushes me inside and then sits beside me. I'm still chilly inside the car and Alyssa is too because I notice her sitting unusually close to me but I don't mind it. I watch her pull out a white wool hat and slip it over her shiny russet hair before she buttons up her navy blue winter coat with shaking fingers. She fumbles with the buttons and, after a moment of consideration, I lean over and button up her coat. If I were in a better mood, I'd tease her about the cute blush on her face; instead, I finish up and lean back in my seat while very conscience of her knee brushing mine and her shoulder pressed against me.

We drive for a while in a comfortable silence that is occasionally broken by a quick story from Alyssa about something that happened at school. Becky and Robbie broke up…again. Luke fell out of his chair during lunch and knocked over two cups of soup, all of which spilled on Nicole – a rich, bratty girl who thinks she is the queen of the school (also Alyssa's number one enemy after she stole her homework twice). To top it off, Alyssa beat Nicole on the latest history test. A typical day of school.

Our driver takes us away from the city, past the small bungalows and side streets, until we are in the back roads that are lined by a thin layer of trees. A pit forms in my stomach as I recognize where we are going and I feel my throat go dry once I see my first glimpse of the orderly rows of various gravestones. The blocks of stone stretch for miles and curve with the land like fences pinning in sheep or goats, but instead of livestock they contain loved ones. The gray sky provides little beauty to the desolate cemetery and as we exit the cab I feel lonelier than ever. Alyssa tells the driver to wait and the engine cuts off, leaving us in utter silence. A small white church stands in the front corner of the graveyard, and it is so pathetic and worn down that I'm remind of Fishy. I walk slowly across the gravel, listening to the crunch underneath my feet, and slip past the iron gate. Once my foot touches the stiff dead grass I stop and stare at the sacred meadow of graves.

Alyssa walks so quietly that I can barely hear her. She lightly touches my arm and I turn to see her holding three beautiful white tulips that look out of place in this dreary cemetery. A small, sad smile plays on her pink lips and her cheeks are rosy from the cold. Silent, she holds the flowers for me and I take them from her.

I nod in thanks and then turn back around. My eyes skim the names of the tombstones as I walk down the rows of graves as silently as I can. Some of them are cracked and unreadable with age and abandonment while others are freshly placed and decorated with a few flowers or a ring of roses. It hurts me to know that my mother is another one of these names that visitors study and frown – another mother, daughter, and friend gone as quickly as a stoplight changes from red to green.

I walk for a while until I reach a dip in the hill. Although I have only been here once, I know exactly where she lies and I make my way over there with soft footsteps and hushed breathing. Soon I am standing in front of her tomb and, slightly to my delight, I see that it is one of the few that is decorated. A bouquet of crimson roses rests on the stiff grass and two sunflowers are tied together in a crown that hangs off the edge of the stone like a forgotten halo. I wish I knew who brought these gifts so that I could thank them.

It also makes me feel like a disloyal son for not decorating her tomb earlier. Shame washes over me as I gently place the three white tulips down in front of the stone. I hadn't brought the flowers, and I didn't even plan on coming here. The realization leaves me feeling like a hole has just opened in my chest as I read the words engraved on the dark gray stone:

_In loving memory of a_

_Mother, daughter, and friend_

_Lisa Cunningham._

_Died February 17__th__, 2026_

_Aged 40 years_

_Heaven will be gaining_

_A wonderful new angel_

Something wet runs down the side of my face and I wipe it away. I glance up at the sky to see if it is raining but no other droplets fall from the clouds. Am I crying then?

I sigh and my breath comes out shaky. I rub my wet eyes as my legs grow weak or numb, I cannot tell the difference. The cold chills me to the bone and I can no longer feel my fingers but I refuse to leave my mother. I don't think my heart has ached for something so much in my entire life.

The stillness of the cemetery is distorted by the sound of approaching footsteps. I look over my shoulder, expecting Alyssa, but I am surprised when I see a tall man with golden blond hair that shines even without the sun. I watch him come closer and he stares right back at me with his deep cobalt eyes. His slender body is covered in a knee length black coat and khaki pants. He has the bone structure and flawless complexion of a movie star and his lips are pulled into a sad smile.

He stops a few feet away from me and doesn't say anything for a moment. "Joshua," he finally whispers before breaking out into a grin and his dark blue eyes shine as if he is about to cry any moment. "It is so good to finally meet you."

I stare at him and struggle to match his sharp nose and perfectly carved face to a name but nothing comes to mind.

"Oh, Joshua," he says my name again as he studies me with his sharp cobalt eyes. In a mesmerized and wistful tone, he sighs, "You look so much like your father, but I see so much of your mother in you."

That is probably the first time in a long while that I have heard somebody say that and I'm instantly intrigued. "I do? How so?" I urge, thirsting for a closer connection to my mother.

His sad smile has returned to his tanned face as he describes, "Well, your mouth for starters. It is small but I am positive that you have your mother's beautiful smile, and your eyes are so much like hers. They're big and bright, full of kindness and wisdom. You have her chin, too. I'm sure you also have her wonderful sense of humor. Oh, Joshua…seeing you reminds me so much of her."

He gazes at me for a few more seconds with his sparkling cobalt eyes as my heart flutters from his kind words, but my curiosity wins.

"Who are you?"

He doesn't answer for a moment and continues to look me over, as if savoring the moment, and then he confesses in a surprisingly casual tone,

"My name is Doctor Gregory Collins. I was engaged to Lisa eighteen years ago."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_Cliffhanger? I think so. :p_

_This chapter is a little short in my opinion but I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless. And thank you __**Indochine Ramera, chibi-chinita, ElizabethStiles, **__and __**magikid196**__ for reviewing last chapter! I love all the feedback and I thank you for your time!_

_I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please leave a review telling me what you felt was good, could use work on, or anything of the such._

_Thanks!_

_~~Wave~~_


	6. A Different Version of Happiness

Chapter Six – A Different Version of Happiness

* * *

><p>As I stare at the tall man with flawless skin and short blond hair, I decide that it's official: I feel more distant from my mother than ever. My gut stirs with a hint of betrayal due to all of these secrets she kept from me and now I think I never truly knew her. For all I know, she could have heard the dead like Dr. Kimishima, or maybe even had the ability to slow down time.<p>

"You were engaged to my mother?" I gawk and wait for him to burst out laughing like he just told a funny joke, but he remains perfectly calm and nods.

"I knew Lisa ever since we were children. Our fathers were business partners, you see," he explains in a deep, gentle voice as his dark blue eyes gaze at my shocked and confused expression. "Our families were close and our marriage was already planned before we were fourteen, but this did not irritate either of us. We were in love and couldn't have been happier."

I hesitate and stare at him uncertainly. My mother has never once mentioned Gregory Collins or ever having a fiancé before Gabe. I actually never met my grandparents because they refuse to speak with us, though my mother has never told me why and I didn't press her.

Not only that, but Gregory Collins is the man Gabe ordered me to never speak to.

"But you didn't marry her, did you?" I clarify uneasily and his smile dips into a frown.

"Sadly, I did not. During my internship at Resurgam, I met Gabriel Cunningham, and she eventually did as well. I did not suspect them to be more than just mere acquaintances until a week before our wedding when she confessed that she could no longer marry me. She told me she found somebody else and it broke my heart."

His voice has no emphasis on any words, giving each syllable the same level of volume as the next. This way of speaking makes him sound incredibly calm but I can see the restlessness in his incredibly deep blue eyes. I can relate to what it is like to have everything seem normal and then change completely in a blink of an eye. This must have been the way Dr. Collins felt when my mother left him for Gabe. Why she did that, however, remains a mystery.

He takes a deep breath and nods, as if reassuring himself that it is okay to speak of the subject. "I left Resurgam then," he continues in his steady voice. "I could no longer be close to Gabriel, especially since he assisted me in a few operations, so I ventured west in means of escape. The last I heard of them was that they would soon be married."

He pauses again and glances at the tombstone beside me. A look of regret crosses his perfectly carved face as he reads the elegantly carved name _Lisa Cunningham_.

"It was mere chance that I learned the current state of your family," he sighs heavily but his perfect face shows no sign of weariness. "A woman who used to work with Lisa moved in the house next door to mine two weeks ago and she told me everything she knew, starting with you."

He looks back at me with seemingly newfound interest, and I feel hot under his intimidating gaze but I force myself not to look away. The woman probably knew as much as I did about my mother, which now seems to be nothing than the mere basics. I can imagine the gossip going something like this: _Lisa Cunningham? Oh yes, I knew her! She and her husband – a doctor by the way – had a young boy in the first year of their marriage, though he didn't stick around. Oh, but that isn't the worst of it. Lisa died in a car accident just last week. It is truly dreadful. Her son? I'm not sure what happened to him. I'd imagine he'd live with some relatives if he has any._

"And now…you're here," I finish for him in a quiet and still puzzled tone.

He holds his hands out with his palms facing the gray sky, giving him an erudite appearance, and when he speaks it is with new vigor. "When I heard all of this, Joshua, I was in deep despair, but then I remembered _you_. If only Lisa had stayed with me then she would have been happy and had a faithful husband. I felt such regret for not giving her better reason to stay with me that I decided I would find you, Joshua, and treat you like the father you have always deserved."

He smiles and stares at me patiently but I find myself unable to respond. From what I've gathered, our conversation has basically gone like this: Joshua, I'm your mother's ex-boyfriend and now that she is dead I have decided that I'm going to be your father because I want to make up for her mistake of not picking me as a husband. And although I know it sounds ridiculous when I put it like that, there is a part of me that is finding all of this very intriguing. How did my mother leave this man for Gabe? I am not entirely sure what women like in a man, but I can see that Dr. Collins is handsome and well mannered, and he probably reads like it is nobody's business. I hear women like guys who read.

When I realize he won't say any more, I swallow the lump in my throat and admit my greatest concern in a weak voice, "I don't know you."

He nods instantly as if he knew what I was going to say all along. "Indeed," he agrees and his tone becomes rapid and excited when he continues to speak. "Perhaps I am rushing this? I have much information about your mother and I truly want to know you better, Joshua. Are you willing to meet up with me to catch up? I'll be working in Resurgam tomorrow and we can converse in the cafeteria during my lunch break. I know it is not the ideal place for such a momentous occasion, but I do not think I can wait. How does that sound?"

I have a feeling he planned all of this before meeting me here, which makes me cautious of this man. Due to many hours of watching the morning news and some dateline with Alyssa (she got hooked one time for a week until I hosted an intervention for her), I cannot help but consider the possibility of him being some crazy pedophile who thought up this entire story just to kidnap me. I refuse to believe this to be true, however, since Gabe did mention him before and he knows too much about my family to be a creepy stranger. Also, learning more about my now mysterious mother is appealing and I find myself agreeing to meet him there tomorrow at 11:15. Hopefully he won't bail like Gabe did before when we arranged a lunch to "catch up" too.

"I will see you then, Joshua," Dr. Collins announces proudly with a grin, showing his perfect white teeth. He then turns on his heels, waves goodbye, and begins walking down the rows of tombstones.

The way his long black coat flaps with the wind makes him seem almost ghostly, and I feel as though I have awoken from a strange dream. My brain is whirling from what I have heard and my breathing is shallow. For a moment I wonder if what just occurred was conjured from my imagination, but then I stuff my hand into my jacket pocket. My fingers instantly touch the stiff paper of his business card. I slip it out and read it over and over until I feel the letters are floating off the page:

_Doctor Gregory Collins_

_Head Surgeon of Hope Hospital, Angeles Bay_

_746-593-6740_

When I look up he is nowhere to be found and a thick fog is rolling into the graveyard. My toes feel numb as I quickly walk back the way I came to where Alyssa and the taxi are waiting. I replay the conversation in my head and questions continue to pop up, most of which are tactless but important to me. What are my grandparents like? Was she sad when she told Dr. Collins that she would not marry him? Surely she would realize how devastating it must have been for him, though I am beginning to wonder if Lisa Cunningham was always the sweet woman that I remember her to be. Maybe she changed over the years, or maybe she has forever been the clever, understanding woman who seemed to have touched many lives than just mine.

* * *

><p>Gabe is confused as to why I want to go to Resurgam with him because last time went <em>so <em>well, but he's cautious. I'm not in my slump anymore though he continues to tread lightly. He stands a good distance away from me and, even though I broke one of his dumb rules, he hasn't smoked in the living room yet. His amber eyes glance at me warily, and he doesn't question me for my reasons of returning to the hospital and I don't tell him. I guess he has realized the possibility of having a depressed son, which increases his parenting troubles by tenfold. Maybe he thinks I'm going to try finding a psychiatrist there, or that I have no actual friends to hang out with and have resorted to mulling around a hospital. I notice that he has removed the few knifes from the kitchen, so I guess it is good to know that he cares enough that he doesn't want me to die like my mother.

The car ride is completely silent, unlike last time when he tried to make polite conversation. Between his nervous glances toward me, I find myself studying him. I suppose women could find him somewhat attractive: he's tall, not fat, and has a sharp nose and intriguing eyes. Honestly, I don't know what people think of his hair – or our hair actually. My mother always said she loved my green locks, so I imagine she loved his too. Alyssa likes it as well but some random people stare at it in disgust like I decided to grow a fungus on top of my head just for kicks.

Even if Gabe were incredibly handsome, my mother wouldn't choose him just for that reason. Maybe he was different then, or maybe she was. There must have been something about him that made her abandon all of her life long plans to try a different version of happiness.

We arrive at the hospital at 10:15 Saturday morning. As soon as we enter the massive white building I ditch Gabe and wander aimlessly through the halls. A few nurses and doctors give me skeptical looks, probably wondering if I'm allowed to be back here or not, but I think my uncanny resemblance to the head of diagnostician allows me to go wherever I please since nobody stops me.

I feel the horrible images of my mother's death beginning to form in my mind, but thoughts on the upcoming meeting with Collins keeps me distracted. Strolling down random orange hallways, I ponder over what homework I missed yesterday to whether or not Collins is a serial kidnapper. I notice that some doctors pass by me without a second glance while others see me and instantly begin whispering to their companion as if I'm some kind of celebrity, but I certainly don't know why I would be. I came to the hospital once before with Wermer's Syndrome, but that was six years ago and I doubt they'd still be gossiping about the kid who the nurses thought was _super_ adorable.

After an agonizingly boring hour of ambling around the hospital, the clock strikes 11:15 and I enter the cafeteria. It's a large room with tiled white floors and orange walls (Resurgam loves the color orange for some reason). Plastic brown tables and flimsy chairs are arranged neatly in rows, and doctors and nurses are either shoving food in their mouths or waiting anxiously in front of a long counter filled with "edible" goods.

I quickly scan the room and I see Doctor Gregory Collins waving at me from a corner table. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I maneuver through the rows of chairs and tables until I am standing in front of him. His mouth is spread into a wide grin, making his high cheekbones even more prominent, and the bright lights illuminate his white teeth.

"Joshua," he greets with a sparkle of joy in his dark cobalt eyes. "I am so glad you came. Please take a seat."

I slip into the uncomfortably hard chair across from him and wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans.

He looks at me intently, still grinning, and says, "This is much better than a graveyard, is it not? Though I do find the food here to be…_interesting,_ if you know what I mean."

I merely nod and, glancing around, I notice the curious gazes of other doctors and nurses. Maybe they all know the history between Gabe and Collins, so perhaps me being with him is a bit of a scandal. Don't they have patients to treat or something?

Collins leans back in his chair and takes a sip of a mug filled with steaming golden tea. His white buttoned down shirt and slacks have creases in them from being expertly folded and his navy blue tie seems to be worn in a way so that it doesn't strangle him. I need to learn how to do that.

"I am sure you have many questions for me, Joshua," he reasons with confidence as he gracefully gesticulates with his free hand. "And I have many for you, but why don't you start?"

I hesitate for a moment, glancing nervously around the room for Gabe, before I inquire in a hushed tone, "Why did you come here?"

He nods, as if he knew this question was coming all along, and instantly responds gravely, "By the time I heard of Lisa's tragic accident, the funeral had already passed, and I was disconsolate for a few days. I regretted not keeping in touch with Lisa after I left years before, though I had respected her wishes to be with Gabriel rather than me. Then I learned that he had abandoned you and Lisa, however, and I became enraged. After many hours of driving with the intention to teach Gabriel a lesson, I realized how hitting him would change nothing. Lisa is dead and nothing we do will be able to suture that wound."

He pauses and takes another sip of his tea. His grin has fallen and his midnight blue eyes are sparkling again like he is going to cry, but his voice is strong when he continues to explain, "While stopping at a gas station, I realized that there is still you, Joshua. Gabe may have failed to be a proper husband and father, making Lisa's life unfairly difficult, but I intend to make up for his mistakes. You are all that is left of Lisa, and I will not let you slip away from me like she did."

He gazes at me as if debating on whether or not I am worth the effort, and I squirm under his powerful stare. I don't know how I am supposed to feel about this: honored or disturbed? I sink in my chair, wishing that there could be a hole beneath me where all of this confusion and sorrow would disappear once I slipped inside. Then again, I feel like everybody wishes for that magical hole at some point in there life. So far it hasn't come true, which is a real shame because a lot of us could really use it.

Throughout all of this, however, there is one thing I have realized about Collins that isn't shown in Gabe.

"You really loved her, didn't you?" I whisper as I stare at his large hands, aware how there are no rings on his thin, bony fingers.

"That indeed, Joshua," he agrees in a soft voice. "I never loved another woman and it broke my heart when she said she could not marry me. I'll admit, I was angry with her at first, but then I realized that to truly love someone is to mean that you are willing to let them go."

"Why did she choose Gabe?" I ask and glance up at him anxiously, but the blank look in his eyes informs me that this question will not be answered soon.

"I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

I sigh and shake my head. Looks like my mother is the only one with that answer.

We drift to silence then and I think we are quiet in honor of her and all of her mysteries.

"What was she like?" I inquire in a whisper. He seems confused for a second, probably thinking that I would know this better than anybody else, but he places his cup down and nods again.

"I don't know where to start," he admits as a wistful glaze forms over his wet blue eyes. "Inquisitive, is what comes to mind. She was always striving for more information and seemed to constantly be questioning her actions. I suppose _thoughtful _is a better word." A genuine smile forms on his thin lips and he adds, "Clever, too. She had such a quick wit that there were times when I could not keep up with her."

This cleverness I am familiar with, but it never occurred to me how often she became lost in thought until Collins mentions it. I would often walk into the kitchen to find her just sitting at the table, staring into space, the definition of pensive. Sometimes she would take a while to respond to a question in order to find the best way of answering, and she always had a strange look in her eyes whenever I mentioned our family. I hadn't realized what it was until I felt it myself: sorrow from life's unexpected twists.

He leans forward and says with a hint of excitement, "Now it is _my_ turn to ask questions, Joshua."

And so he does. He inquires about school, my favorite foods, friends, what my mother and I did for holidays, swimming, books, vacations, and other seemingly random topics. I answer uncomfortably at first, not use to such interest in my life, but I quickly grew at ease with the way he nods after my responses, as if he already knew all of this. Nod, nod, nod, nothing comes as a surprise. At some point I realize that I am even enjoying his unwavering attention to me, something that Gabe doesn't possess either.

After explaining how Alyssa and I became friends when we met up in the hospital after our surgeries, he reaches into his pocket and places a small black box on the table. Sliding it towards me, he grins and says in an almost giddy whisper, "Open it."

I cock an eyebrow, but once I realize that there will be no more words said on the subject I flip open the lid. My ochre eyes instantly widen as I stare in awe at the obviously expensive item. The golden watch is curled around a plush black pillow, reminding me of the crown jewels in the Tower of London. It has the same elegance as those glittering diamonds and I imagine this little watch is worth more than myself. The ceiling lights reflect off the flecks of silver in the face and an intricate design of ivory jewels swirl around the edges.

"It is for you, Joshua," he says and I can hear the smile in his voice, probably pleased by my stunned reaction.

"I-I can't accept this," I stammer and stare at it warily, too afraid to even breathe on it.

"Of course you can," Collins insists. "I bought it specifically for you."

Before I can form another protest, a long shadow falls over Collins and interrupts our private discussion. I look to the side and my stomach drops at the sight of the man standing beside us. His hands are stuffed in his pockets while a burnt out cigarette hangs from his clenched teeth. His amber eyes are ablaze as he glares at the man across from me, and his frazzled green hair gives him a wild appearance. Behind him stand two people, one man who I recognize to be CR-S01 due to his crimson eyes and strange white prison uniform. Beside him is a woman with long black hair that I have never seen before. She is petite with sparkling purple eyes that are unusually large for a Japanese woman. A white doctor's coat falls in waves around her red floral kimono. Both her and CR-S01 glance between us nervously as if trying to decide which one of us is more likely to blow up first.

"Ah, Doctor Cunningham," Collins greets in a cheerful voice but his grin doesn't reach his eyes. "Come to join us I see?"

Gabe's jaw locks and he responds in an aggravated tone, barely restraining his fury, "No, I'm here to get Joshua." He averts his furious gaze to me and I cannot tell if he is pissed at Collins or me, but the intensity in his amber eyes is enough to make me speechless and the words _oh shit_ come to mind.

"I think Joshua can handle himself, don't you?" Collins asks with forced civility, and I'm starting to wonder if he is able to resist the temptation of punching Gabe now that he is only inches away from his target.

"Why don't you go spend your money on somebody else," Gabe snaps, and his teeth clench together so hard that his cigarette falls out of his mouth like somebody swatted it away.

"I think I am spending it on the right person because, from what I hear, you do not even have the decency to feed him," Collins retorts and Gabe takes half a step forward but the Japanese woman grabs onto his elbow, effectively restraining him.

My palms become sweaty as they continue to glare at each other like bullies on the playground, and CR-S01, the woman, and I are simple bystanders who don't understand which side to take.

"Your money didn't work on Lisa, so don't think it is going to work on my son," Gabe snarls, and the fact that he referred to me as his son shocks me while Collins abruptly loses his gentleman composure and hastily stands up.

"Do _not_ talk about Lisa!" He shouts and the people around us immediately turn to look at the confronting men. I feel my face grow hot under their stares and I wish they'd take this argument elsewhere. My throat has gone dry, thus making me inaudible, and I can only watch them erupt in front of me.

Collins' cobalt eyes suddenly appear black and his broad shoulders give him a formidable aura. Shaking with rage, he yells hotly, "She gave herself to you and you threw her away like trash, and then left her out to whither away until she died! I will not let you do the same to Joshua!"

Gabe is surprisingly quiet and by now the entire cafeteria is looking at us. His lips are pulled into a tight line and his ochre eyes are impossible to read as he stares at his enemy. For a few seconds they just gaze at each other with nothing but the sound of Collins' heavy breathing and a few murmurs of gossiping nurses in the distance.

"Come on, Joshua," Gabe orders in an emotionless tone. "We're leaving."

He doesn't wait for a response and spins on his heels. I quickly glance to Collins who is still glaring at Gabe as he walks away. The fury in his now black eyes and his rapid switch from calm to cantankerous is unnerving. CR-S01 remains quiet and studies the scene before him as if he has seen this before, while the Japanese woman just looks baffled. The people around us are frozen to their chairs and their gazes burn into me like lasers.

I'm not entirely sure why I follow Gabe. Maybe I leave because I cannot stand being in a room that has more tension than an OR, maybe because he seems so threatening that I find saying no to him would put me in danger, or maybe it is because I don't want to have to catch a taxi home. Either way, I find myself chasing after him while he briskly walks down the hallway and to the garage. After everything Collins has told me, I'm reeling with questions as to why Gabe would leave my mother, and I'm pissed off that he did in the first place, yet I get in the car with him and we drive out of there way too fast to be legal. I'm too frightened to speak and we ride in an uncomfortable silence all the way home.

The first thing Gabe does when we enter the apartment is grab a beer from the fridge, pop off the cap, and guzzle it don't like he hasn't had a drop of water in days. He pours the golden liquid down his throat and I watch his Adam's apple bob with each gulp he takes. Finishing it in a few seconds, he places it on the counter with a defiant look in his eyes, as if proving to the world that he is a man because he can drink a beer in seconds, and then grabs another. He doesn't drain this one right away, but takes a quick swing instead before putting it next to the other one with the same come-at-me-bro gleam in his ochre eyes.

I thought the beer was to help him regain strength but it seems to have done the complete opposite. He slumps over the wooden island and rests his head in his hands. Exhausted, his eyes are only half open and he releases a deep, shaky breath. He then rubs his face with his large, bony hands, pulling his skin up and then down like he is trying to scrub away his weariness.

The room is so quiet that I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I watch him just stand there the way my mother used to do. He has the same remorseful, dazed look in his eyes as if life just mugged him of his happiness.

"So," he says after a long moment of silence. His voice is dry and he continues to stare at nothing when he speaks, "Collins told you everything, huh?"

I don't answer right away and realize that the news Collins gave me hadn't improved my life, it just made me more confused about who my mother really was, and who Gabe is.

"I wouldn't consider it everything," I whisper, feeling that speaking any louder would disturb the precarious balance of the moment.

Gabe makes a strange noise, like a cross between a huff and a chuckle. His hand is over his mouth and he doesn't speak. For a brief moment I wonder if he is going to scold me for breaking another rule, but I think this is bigger than that. He glances to the window and we both watch the beginning drops of a rainstorm drip down the glass. Soon a din of _pitter-patters_ fill the silent room.

"She always hated it," he whispers so quietly that I can barely hear it.

"No she didn't," I correct in a sour tone, annoyed that he doesn't even know this simple, categorical fact about my mother. "She loved the rain."

He looks at me and I see the corner of his lips pull into an amused smile. "Why did she love it?"

"Because it makes the city beautiful and washes away the dirt, like the world is cleansing itself of its sin," I respond instantly, quoting my mother completely.

For a moment he continues to smile as if I just complimented his outfit (which is an orange suit, as usual, and not creditable), but then he glances back at the rain and a melancholy expression washes over his face. The gray light makes him appear paler and older, and the wrinkles around his ochre eyes are now evident.

I don't understand why he smiles at my answer, but I feel like I am not currently meant to be in his presence. Whatever he is thinking about is greater than me, so I silently leave the kitchen and retreat into my small room. Overwhelmed with confusion and at a loss for words, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at nothing in particular. For a few minutes I just listen to the rain and pass my blank gaze over piles of discarded clothes and textbooks, reminding me of a test I have coming up. After an hour of reading about American plantations, my stomach growls and I cautiously sneak back into the kitchen. Gabe isn't there anymore but the stench of smoke is strong and acts as a marker to his presence. All I can wonder as the night crawls quietly by is that maybe Hank was right. Maybe Gabe has been affected by her death.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_I sort of rushed this because I really, really wanted to post this before returning to school this Tuesday and before Hurricane Irene. Now that summer is over updates will take longer. :( Ugh, stupid government making me get an education._

_After the last update, I created a cover for this story which can be found here (remove the spaces!): http:/ /Wavemoon .deviantart. com/art/An-Old-Blue-Fish-Cover- 253116424_

_Lisa reminds me of my own mother, who I also find to be rather mysterious. I don't know much about her family and when I question her she always seems to dance around the topic. Writing this makes me want answers more than ever._

_Hearty thanks to __**Canada Cowboy, Indochine Ramera, chibi-chinita, Liliafax, magikid196, **__and __**Tell Her This**__ for all of your awesome reviews! Thank you for taking the time to leave me valuable feedback because it is much appreciated._

_And lastly a big thanks to my wonderful new beta reader, __**Tell Her This**__! Big hugs for you! :D And thank you for all of your help because I certainly needed it!_

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please review with comments or concerns._

_~~Wave~~_


	7. Like a True Doctor

Chapter Seven – Like a True Doctor

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><p>March has so far brought me two things: confusion and headaches.<p>

Although Gabe despises Doctor Gregory Collins with every fiber of his being, he still allows me to converse with him in Resurgam's cafeteria. Gabe is never present whenever I am with his nemesis, but I can tell it frustrates him nevertheless. Or at least I assume that is the reason for his increased number of cigarettes per day. Maybe the large amount of nicotine helps ease the pain of Collins' return or the sorrow of Lisa's death. Although I can't imagine him being _that_ affected by my mother's passing. He hasn't seen her in fifteen years, so I assume any feelings of nostalgia are nonexistent now. Then I remember when he first found me with Collins, however, and the look of desperation and exhaustion in his eyes causes me to question myself yet again.

In the end, I realize that Gabe is a surprisingly complex man.

I try to retrieve some information about Gabe and my mother's relationship from Collins but he knows very little. After Lisa left him he packed his bags and fled the area, never bothering to check in with them because it was just too painful. Even though he cannot answer those questions, he tells fascinating stories about dangerous operations and pranks him and my mother performed when they were children. He speaks so highly of her, and the way his blue eyes sparkle when he reflects on their time together, I know he loves her.

Collins is also interested in my life and listens to my stories about how unreasonable Miss. Piercing and how the swim team may be going to states (I'm not though, due to my absence this year). Throughout our conversations he is always nodding as if he already knows everything, and though it used to irritate me I no longer notice this habit.

Despite my new connection to Doctor Collins, the ache in my chest has only multiplied. I thought talking about my mother was supposed to ease the pain, but all I can think during his near death stories about running from rabid dogs and cliff jumping is that all those life threatening moments finally caught up to her. Her complaints about how I leave the toilet seat up, calling me her baby genius, and hauling me to art films have all vanished. As the weeks drag by I realize that I still feel as empty as the day I watched her coffin dip in the ground like a sinking ship.

On Saturday, March 17th, I pretend that this is just like any other day. I gradually wake up, eat a bland breakfast of Special K, look to see if we have any milk, return to eating my milk-less bowl of Special K, wonder why I even bought Special K, grow a hatred toward Special K, and then resort to flipping through channels on Gabe's crappy T.V., all the while telling myself that everything is fine. Fine fine fine. The anchorman explains how there is a bombing in London, two homicides in a neighboring town, a category three hurricane crushing homes down south, and a riot in China, but everything is fine fine fine. It's all just fucking fine.

As I mope around all Saturday, I recall how it used to be mandatory to have plans for the weekend. I often left my mom and her best friend, Penelope, at the house while I would hang out with Alyssa or go with the swim team to Crazy Pizza Movie Night. For a brief moment I am embarrassed that I haven't gone out in a while but I don't like the idea of trying to arrange something.

A knock on the door drags me away from watching another episode of _That 70s Show_, and I open it to find Justin standing in the hallway with a wide grin and his almond eyes are bright with excitement. Beside him is a girl I recognize from my literature class from last year, Ruth Fen. I know she is a member of the poetry club only because she would constantly boast about how her latest piece is _so_ much better than anything Emily Dickenson ever wrote, and then she said my essay on Hamlet's feigned madness was too mainstream to be worthy of a passing grade. Like Justin, she has a tendency to wear all black but she is addicted to coffee rather than pot. Even now, a Starbucks cup is glued to her leather gloved hand. Her head is held snobbishly high as she looks up at me with her calculating gray eyes. Locks of her curly strawberry blonde hair is tucked up into a red knit cap – the only colorful piece in her ensemble. The one good thing about her is that she is half my height, meaning I can look down on her. How fun for me.

"_This _is the guy you wanted to invite?" She asks Justin in an incredulous tone with a cross look on her pale face that would be pretty if she weren't always insulting my writing. Sorry if I don't know thirty synonyms for _iridescent_.

"Cool it, Ruthie," Justin replies casually as he continues to look at me with an unnerving amount of excitement. "Joshua's cool."

"Oh, I'm sure the teacher's pet is a real party animal," she sneers while rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her leather jacket. Glaring at Justin, she quickly adds, "And refrain from calling me Ruthie, or I swear on Edgar Allan Poe's legendary grave that your heart will be stashed under floorboards."

"What exactly are you talking about?" I interrupt uncertainly. Justin's eagerness makes me wonder if I should jump out the window now.

"Only one of the most illustrious high school gatherings of the year that consists of gratis booze and a surplus of other wonders," Ruth describes in an aloof tone, and I can't help but be slightly embarrassed that I have never heard of this "illustrious" party.

"Come with us, Joshua," Justin urges with a crooked grin on his face despite Ruth's flagrant scowl. "It's healthy to get out of the house and party, and being the son of a doctor I'd assume health is important to you."

"Well, the doctor you are referring to is actually the unhealthiest person I have ever met, so your form of persuasion doesn't really work here," I respond in a slightly bitter tone as I glance back into the messy apartment that reeks of smoke.

Gabe is currently at work, as usual, and it'll be another night of cold pizza and old television shows since there is no cable. If I don't go out, I'll probably end up cleaning because I'll be so bored. Looking at the empty, disgusting room, I realize that if I spend another moment in this lonely apartment on the one-month anniversary of my mother's death I might just go completely insane.

"Yeah," I mumble in a bit of an uneasy tone. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod and repeat with confidence, "Yeah, I'll come."

Justin's grin widens while Ruth rolls her gray eyes again. "Great," she grumbles and places her hands on her hips. "Fine, whatever. Can we vacate the premise and go now? Those drinks are going to be gone by the time we arrive if we linger about any longer."

We both nod and I quickly grab my tattered brown jacket before jogging down the stairs and to Ruth's car outside of the apartment building. It is a sleek black Mercedes Benz that reflects the city lights so clearly they look like golden stars in its flawless metal. Ruth slips into the driver's seat and Justin calls shotgun, leaving me to ride in the back. I run my hand over the leather seats and inhale that strong, new car smell.

"Pretty nice ride, huh?" Justin grins when he catches me admiring the glowing red buttons surrounding the built in GPS.

"Yeah, is this yours?" I ask Ruth with awe.

She smirks. "It's my dad's, so don't puke it in or else there will be _toil n' trouble_," she replies and her voice becomes a strange hiss when she recites Shakespeare.

I don't say much on the car ride over and focus my mind on Justin and Ruth's conversation about how much Mrs. Powell is such a whore and how this whoriness caused Ruth to fail her math test because she is just such a whore. Mrs. Powell actually wears a lot of clothes and is nowhere near to being a whore but I refrain from correcting Ruth. Their ridiculous conversation helps distract me from today's horrible date and that is enough for me.

We travel quickly through the city and run a few red lights before Ruth swings the car around to the side of the street. I instantly step out with the two of them, grateful to be on solid ground again.

As Ruth and Justin rapidly walk to the front door, I take a moment to observe the obviously expensive stone house. Tucked away in the corner of Portland, the home has enough space for rows of colorful flowers and lush bushes to surround the building like a fortress of foliage. Delicate vines circle the ivory columns and all three floors have clear glass windows with their own individual balconies. Inside this exquisite house, however, is an enormous group of rowdy teenagers destroying the home's tranquility. I listen to the din of pop music and cheering as I cautiously approach the building. For a second I am irritated with my peers for being so obnoxious in such a fancy home, but my annoyance dissipates once Justin grabs my arm and drags me inside.

The first thing I notice is that everybody (and I mean _everybody_) has a bottle of beer in their hand. Some of them gulp it down like fish out of water while others casually sip at it. I then realize that I actually know these people. I'm not surprised to see the members of the basketball team taking a round of shots and then roaring with laughter when somebody spits it out all over the once pristine white carpet, but then I am stunned to see a few girls from my math class drinking beer. They wear glasses and rarely wear shirts that show more than their collarbone. During class they are silent as the dead and never seem to miss a homework assignment. I never imagined those shy girls would ever even touch a bottle of beer.

And then I see Cathy. She stands amongst them with her shiny black hair pulled up into a sloppy bun and her dark brown eyes glancing around the room, as if she is trying to take it all in at once but just can't. A tight red sweater clings to her tiny frame and her jeans follow every curve of her legs. We went to the movies a few times together our freshmen year, and I kissed her, but that was all we ever were. She's a genius and shy and kind of tasted like Chinese food, but seeing her giggling with a bottle in her hand makes me feel like a loser because I've never had beer before. She sees me and waves. I wave back with a twitch of my hand. Why am I so awkward?

Unlike the movies, people aren't swinging from the golden chandeliers or having sex on the couch (they are standing on it though). The teens are split into their little cliques and hover around different objects. The shot-drinking basketball players are by the stereo that is blasting another rap song while the Cathy and her friends are hiding in the corner by a potted plant. Another group of girls (who often wear shirts that are too short for them and are often sent to the office because of it) lounge on the couch as a few guys linger by them. I can hear people moving around upstairs and I'm sure groups of kids are dispersed throughout the house.

"You look like you could use a drink," a deep voice muses to my right and I turn to find Art, a member of the swim team and a senior, holding a beer to me. Despite my mistrust for the drink, I take it from him with a polite "thank you." His dark eyes close for a moment as he takes a quick swing of his drink, and when he is done he looks at me expectantly, so I put the cold bottle to my lips and dip my head back. The liquid runs down my throat but it doesn't burn as much as I thought it would, though it smells a little too much like Gabe for me to thoroughly enjoy it.

"Feel better?" Art asks as he grins.

I nod though I honestly don't feel any different. I take another sip, wondering if that will change me, but I'm still unaffected.

Art suddenly leaves me then and I'm not sure what I should do now. Justin and Ruth are gone and people that I barely know surround me, but I feel more confident now that I have a drink in my hand because I finally fit in. I know it sounds slightly twisted, but the beer helps me blend in and no longer stand out as the kid who we should all pity because his mom died.

Standing by the wall, I continue to drink the bitter tasting liquid. I focus on how my heartbeat locks in with the steady rhythm of the music's loud bass while the rest of the noise – singing, voices, and car horns – become static to my ears. The confidence boost the beer has given me gives me the courage to chat with a few strangers. I'm actually about to go over to Cathy when Justin and Ruth step in front of me.

"See, Ruthie," Justin brags as he looks at me with pride. "Joshua's already downed one drink and he isn't puking all over your car."

"Truly remarkable," Ruth mutters sarcastically as I glance down at my beer only to realize that I've already drank all of it. "Now come on upstairs, it is so much more vivacious," Ruth brags. She spins on her heels and walks away with her head held high

Once she is gone, Justin asks casually but with a hint of longing in his tone, "Isn't she so sexy when she uses big words?"

Not at all. "Err…sure," I respond uncertainly. "Big words are so hot?"

"Do you think she'll sleep with me?" he asks eagerly, oblivious of my dislike for her, and his almond eyes are round with excitement and hope.

I'm a little taken aback by the question, mostly because I am surprised anybody would want to be near Ruth but I guess he could do worse. "I don't know…are you guys dating?" I answer uneasily.

"No," he replies though he doesn't sound discouraged in the least. "She slept with Mr. Stein, so I figure if she is willing to sleep with an old man than she wouldn't mind me."

"Wait, she is the one who slept with our chemistry teacher who was arrested!" I gawk in a loud voice and a few heads turn to look at me, causing my face to heat up. I wish I had another beer right now to blend in more.

"Yeah, you didn't know that?" Justin wonders in a casual tone like it is no big deal.

"Well…no."

A moment of silence falls between us, and Justin just stares at me for a few seconds before he takes a sip of his beer and decides, "I'm going to try getting her a bit drunk and then make my move. See yah, Joshua!"

He saunters off and, after a second of hesitation, I follow him up the stairs and to the second floor, and Ruth was right: it is much more vivacious. The music is powerful and seems to come from all around me as the sound bounces off the walls and flies into my ears. People crowd the halls and opened rooms, some of them dancing but most simply chatting. There are a few closed doors, one of which Justin approaches and, after sharing a few words with a guy standing outside, he slips inside.

I find a table stacked with bottles of beer and grab one from the top. The air is stiff and hot up here, so the cold drink helps cool me down a bit and I feel more confident again with it in my hand. I go up to a group of guys that I know pretty well. Their faces are tinted red from either the heat or the alcohol. When they see me approaching they cheer and some of them dance on their toes.

"I feel like we never see you out!" One of the guys yells over the music and chatter. He takes a step towards me but leans dangerously to the side and collides into the wall. The guys cheer again like they are watching the final seconds of the Super Bowl. Even the dude who just hit the wall starts yelling. After just a few minutes with them I learn that they are playing some dumb game where they cheer whenever they get the chance. A girl and a guy walk into a room together: cheer. I take a sip of my beer: cheer. Somebody farts: cheer.

Soon I am done with this drink and then I down another. As I travel with the guys to a larger area, I feel much more at ease and I'm grinning like I haven't done in a while. Somehow, I end up in a huge game of Thumper. Guys and girls sit around a table each with a bottle of beer in front of them and we all choose strange gestures for ourselves that everybody must memorize. With a loud round of _whoop whoops_, we pound the table like a drum roll. The game begins when Greg does his gesture – flipping somebody off – and then the gesture of another person. The game goes faster and faster, becoming more wild whenever somebody mess up. When the round ends, a roar of cheers overpowers the music as the loser drinks a shot. At one point I realize how incredibly dumb the game is but the raw energy of the music, thumping, and their exhilaration makes me feel like a normal teenager for the first time in a long while. I'm on top of the world, even though I mess up three times and have to drink while everybody starts chanting, "Chug, chug, chug!"

The people at the game eventually disperse and I find myself sprawled out on the couch as the world swirls around me like everything is just soup inside a blender. The spinning fan is over there…and then it is over there. It's under that. Underwear? Ha. Underwear.

Suddenly there is a weight on my stomach and I lift my head up to see that the person on top of me has two heads…. no wait, it is becoming one now.

"Look at you," the girl slurs and runs her finger down my chest. She leans forward and I recognize her to be Ruth from her black clothing and stormy gray eyes. "You're so…. cute when," she stammers and her heavy breathing is hot on my skin as she struggles with the words. "So much better than…be…"

And then her lips are crashing onto mine and I hear the distant sound of cheering. Her hands run through my bushy green hair and claw at my scalp as she slips her tongue into my mouth. I'm shocked by her sudden display of affection though I cannot think of why it is bad for Ruth to be kissing me right now. One of her hands travels under my shirt and runs across my chest, making my skin feel like it is on fire, and I still cannot remember why this might be unwise.

I jump when something vibrates in my pocket and Ruth leans away from me. The world spins a bit as I watch her reach in my pocket and pull out my phone. She looks at the screen for a moment and then a mischievous smile spreads across her pale face.

"Alyssa!" She chirps into the phone and her words slur every few seconds. "Are you at this _greeeat_ party that _isss_ tantamount to…something big?"

She doesn't say anything for a moment and her smirk widens as she replies to Alyssa, "Where is Joshua? Oh, why, he is right here." She leans forward again and runs a finger across my lips, and I realize that I shouldn't trust her to speak to Alyssa but when she touches me I just start laughing loudly. I don't know why, it is just so funny.

"And he is such a good kisser, did you know that?" Ruth continues in an obviously fake sweet voice that just makes me laugh even more. She says a few more words that I cannot hear clearly because of more cheering in the background, but her tone is bitter. She snaps the phone shut and tosses it to the side before a lustful glint returns to her eyes and she leans towards me again. Her lips interlock with mine and I feel her hands trying to lift my shirt up but suddenly I start imagining how hurt Alyssa might be feeling. Despite my dizziness, I can picture her face clearly from her large emerald eyes to her cute, small smile and russet hair.

Ruth is struggling to get my shirt over my head but her hands are clumsy and she keeps laughing every few seconds. Her lips suddenly feel disgustingly wet and her hands clammy. I grab onto her shoulders and push her away from me while prying my legs out from under her. Her gray eyes are dazed and ringlets of strawberry blonde hair fall out from her knit cap in an unruly manner.

"Where are you going?" she questions and grabs onto my arm as I swing my legs over the edge of the couch. I stand up and she tries to pull me back down while her other hand tugs at the waist of my jeans.

I shove her hand off and the world swims as I stumble away from her, grab my phone off the floor, and rush toward a table stacked with shots. My buzz is dying and I want it back, and as I drink a few I travel to a neighboring room. I don't take three steps before Justin pops up in front of me. His almond eyes are dangerously dark.

"When I said me and Ruthie weren't dating, I didn't mean you could take her!" he snaps but I hesitate because he suddenly has two heads.

"Look, I d-didn't mean to," I stutter but he and his two heads are no longer in front of me. I glance around the room and vertigo makes it so it seems like the world is gradually spinning, as if I am doing flips underwater in slow motion. I know something isn't right – or maybe it's more than just one something but two somethings. I don't know how Alyssa is feeling and I think Justin is pissed at me right now. Today's date is a sad date. Gabe smells bad. A lot of somethings are wrong right now, but then there is one thought that makes all of these somethings diminutive compared to this immense trouble.

I have to pee.

I begin to stumble around the room, bumping into various people, and opening random doors and walk in to too many awkward situations. I find a couple rolling around on a bed, and in another room is a group of kids lying on the floor looking at the ceiling with dazed expressions and the smell of weed is so overpowering that my vertigo increases tenfold. In the next room I catch a few guys riffling through an underwear drawer before I finally find the bathroom.

I quickly relieve myself (longest pee of my life, by the way), and as soon as I leave the room a hand latches onto my arm and before I know it I'm being dragged around the house and down the stairs. My head is throbbing and the music pounds with my fluttering heartbeat as I struggle to make the world stop spinning and focus on the person leading me away from the party. I don't even realize I am outside until a blast of cold air brushes against my hot skin and the music is dimmed to just background noise. As I am shoved into the passenger seat of a car, I wonder if it is Ruth extracting revenge on me because I rejected her, but as we begin to drive away I recognize the crappy interior of the car and the strong stench of smoke. Looking to the left, I see Gabe in the seat beside me. I squint to make it so he doesn't have two heads and four arms, and once he looks normal again I realize that he's unhappy.

I laugh.

"How much did you drink?" Gabe asks in a bitter tone and a deep frown creases his face. The night casts him in shadows but his ochre eyes shine like bright embers.

"One," I respond and then chuckle again.

"Can you seriously not remember?" He snaps and though his voice is threatening I find that I am not intimidated. When I don't respond he asks, "What's today's date?"

My smile drops and I look outside the window. My vision blurs dramatically as houses and street signs flies by and my stomach churns. Squeezing my eyes shut, I struggle to suppress my throbbing headache.

"Do _yaah _know the _daaate_?" I retort, my voice slurring like the drunk kid I am.

"March seventeenth, the one month anniversary of Lisa's death," he answers instantly and I'm surprised that he actually remembers. "Is that why you decided to get drunk today?"

"I'm not drunk," I reply confidently but he instantly bursts out laughing.

"You are as wasted as they get," he corrects and I roll my eyes.

"Okay, fine. I'm drunk," I agree in a sour tone. As we speed around a sharp corner, my stomach lurches. I lean against the window, grateful for the cool glass, and ask in a weaker tone, "Can you _pweease_ drive slower?"

"Why, are you nauseous?" He asks though he obviously knows the answer due to his cocky tone. Cocky. Ha. Cock.

"Yes," I snap. "Do you want me to throw up all over your car?"

"Worse things have happened in this car than vomit, and that is what the bucket is for," he replies casually.

I look down to see a plastic bucket sitting between my feet. I want to interrogate him about what could be worse than puke stinking up a car but my stomach churns again and that shuts me up. My hands are clammy and I think somebody is pounding a nail into my head as the world blurs again and I close my eyes. Leaning my head back, I can feel the intoxicating numbness of sleep creeping up on me…

"Hey! Joshua!" a deep voice yells and interrupts my restful state.

My body is shaking and another wave of nausea swarms through me. I blink open my bleary eyes to see Gabe stretched across the car, tugging on my arm. A look of panic flashes across his face as the pale moonlight illuminates the edges his dark green hair, almost giving him a halo. I try to smile at the irony of Gabe being an angel, but then my stomach lurches again and my throat constricts. My body shudders violently. A disgusting gurgling sound breaks the silence as bile shoots out of my mouth and into a bucket that Gabe holds underneath me. I clutch onto the container, desperately spitting out the revolting vomit before the taste can make me puke even more.

For a few seconds I simply sit there, hunched over the bucket as Gabe's hand gently rubs circle into my back. Although the motion is soothing, my stomach still rocks with nausea and I'm puking again. It passes quickly, but the horrible taste lingers in my mouth. My skin feels sticky and hot while my breathing is raspy. Hair clings to the back of my sweaty neck. I really want to shower now.

"Feel better?" Gabe asks in a whisper and he stops rubbing my back.

"N-no," I sputter, my shaking hands barely clinging to the bucket.

"Don't worry, we're almost home," he reassures me. We begin to move again but at a much slower speed. "Just don't fall asleep again, okay?"

I nod and focus on breathing through my mouth so I don't inhale my vomit's vile stench. My head is still pounding and I wish I could just die right now. Soon Gabe is carefully leading me out of the car. I become limp as he drags me up the stairs to the apartment. With my arm draped over his shoulders, he takes me to the couch and gently places me down. Feeling incredibly weak, I just sit there until he returns with a platter of cups and food. My vision is so blurry that I cannot tell what exactly he is holding.

"I'm going to give you some water, Joshua," he informs me in a relaxed tone. "You need to drink this whole glass, okay? And then you can eat some crackers. Okay? Are you ready? Okay, drink this now."

I want to tell him to stop saying okay because everything is not okay. I feel like shit. I am shit. Oh shit, I don't want to be shit.

The time passes by in a daze and I actually don't know how long I let Gabe tip my head back and pour water down my throat in short intervals. He tries to make me eat the crackers, but since I don't want ay food he helps me drink Sprite instead. His hands are steady and his confident. The calmness in his voice is reassuring, as if I'm not one hundred percent shit. Hours must have passed but he is still beside me, caring for me till the very end like a true doctor. Gabe presses a cool towel to my head, making me remember how he treated me when I was in the hospital with Wermer's Syndrome. He refused to give up on me despite my resistance, and this persistence saved my life. For the first time since then I am grateful for Gabe's stubbornness, and when he offers me the crackers again I nibble on them even though the thought of food is revolting.

"Gabe?" I mumble between sips of water. I feel my eyelids droop but he urges me awake.

"What is it?" he whispers and holds another cracker before my mouth. I nibble at it.

"Are you mad at me?" I inquire in a mumble, taking the glass of water from his hand before sipping it without his help.

"Of course I am," he responds though his soft, deep voice contradicts his statement. "I'll discipline you later because I think you've punished yourself enough for one night."

A comfortable silence comes between us as I finish off the last bit of crackers. My hands are no longer shaking and I can eat and drink without Gabe's help, but my body feels deflated and my eyes continue to droop. Without a word, Gabe guides my body so that I am lying on my side. I snuggle into the couch's pillow – even though it still reeks of smoke – while he gently drapes a blanket over me. Closing my eyes, I listen to him move some objects around. A nearby chair creeks as he settles in to it.

"Gabe?" I murmur, which is proceeded by a quiet yawn.

"Yes?"

Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I release a deep breath and whisper, "Thank you."

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><p><em>Author's Note<em>

_First, HUGE MEGA EXTRA EXTRA LARGE THANKS to my beta reader, **Tell-Her-This**__. I owe her big time because I suck, and she helped me so that I don't suck. Seriously, I should pay you but I have no money…so pretend you never heard that._

_If you haven't, go read her stories because they are fantastic and better than mine. But of course thank you for reading and reviewing Big thanks to **Tell-Her-This**__, _**_Indochine Ramera, Liliafax, magikid196_**_, and _**_Canada Cowboy _**_for reading last chapter. As always, I really appreciate your support and I would love to hear more of it! :)_

_And just so nobody gets worried, this is not a filler chapter and is important in the story's development. Joshua gets drunk for a reason! :D (oh goody)_

_Thanks again!_

_~~Wave~~ _


	8. Not So Heartless

**Warning – this story is not rated T to be safe, it is rated T because there IS some strong language and suggestive themes. You have been warned.**

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><p>Chapter Eight – Not So Heartless<p>

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><p>If I had to describe my life in one word it would have to be <em>fuck<em>. Everything about my life is incredibly fucked up. By now I am used to the fact that my mom is dead and Gabe's a crappy father, but my biggest problem now is how shitty my body feels.

I wake up this morning and I think the world maliciously killed me last night. Lying limp on the couch, my heart pounds in my head as if my brain is trying to burst through my skull. Nearby voices only make the throbbing worse and if I had the strength I would punch everybody in the world. I am too weak to do that, however. I'm even too weak to find some Advil for this horrible headache or go to the bathroom to pee. I really have to pee. Or maybe I have to throw up. The strange churning in my stomach is new and confusing.

Eventually I drift back to sleep, but then I wake up again only to think these same thoughts.

At some point, all the memories of last night return to me as fast and painful as a brick falling on my head. Snapping my eyes open, I groan in a cracked and weak voice, "_Fuuuuuuuuuck_."

"Looks like somebody is having a rough morning," a woman chides from nearby. Her smug voice shatters my skull into tiny pieces.

For a moment I'm terrified that I am mistaken and I did do something with Ruth last night. Heart pounding, I look to my right to find a tanned woman in a green and yellow EMT jacket standing a few feet away. Her wide smirk reveals her sharp teeth and her green eyes are bright with a constant mischief, but I'm just grateful she isn't Ruth.

"Leave him alone, Maria," Gabe's gruff voice calls from somewhere in the distance.

"It's noon," she replies as she begins to walk towards me. "He should get up now."

There is no way in hell I'm getting up now, but I find myself too tired to even protest. Her movements are quick yet gentle as she easily repositions me into sitting position. Despite her caution, my stomach twists and I think I'm going to barf all over her. My hands are shaking uncontrollably while chills run up my spine.

"Here you are, Joshua," a sweet voice chirps from nearby.

A small woman in a red, floral kimono and a white doctor's coat steps in front of me. I vaguely recognize her due to her dark purple eyes and glossy black hair. Her thin lips are pulled into a delicate, comforting smile. Holding out a mug of steaming liquid, she explains, "This is a very special tea I made for you. It is a traditional remedy that has been used in my family for all sorts of ailments."

After a moment of hesitation, I gingerly take the mug from her. The swirling steam warms my face as I observe the murky brown liquid bubbling like boiling tar pits. I accidentally inhale its fowl, inexpressible scent. I'm supposed to consume this?

I just threw up in my mouth.

"Drink it when you're ready," Maria warns. "The stuff looks like bubbling shit but it does the trick."

I nod and the Japanese woman rushes away. A minute later, she returns with a plate of food and Gabe walks behind her. Compared to the small woman, he appears tall and confident. A small smirk plays on his lips, yet I can see the worry and exhaustion in his ochre eyes. Everything about him emits a careless aura – the wild green hair, wrinkled pants, hands in the pockets – but I've seen him at his worst. I know that underneath that relaxed appearance is a very complex man. Even now he speaks in a lighthearted tone yet his eyes remain weary.

"How you feelin'?" He asks as he sits beside me.

"Like shit," I grumble, the stench of smoke making me feel nauseous again.

"I cooked you some food, Joshua," the Japanese woman smiles as she places the tray of food on the table. "Well, Honzou made it," she corrects herself. "He's in the kitchen right now."

The plate of eggs and sausage appears delicious but I somehow manage to lose my appetite as soon as I look at it. Averting my gaze to her, I ask, "Who?"

"Honzou is my butler and friend," she replies in a cheerful tone while flicking away a strand of black hair. "And I am Doctor Tomoe Tachibana. It is wonderful to meet you."

Maybe if I weren't so hung-over I'd be my usual polite self, but right now I just started to wonder why Tomoe and Maria are here in the first place. Did Gabe want to show off his wasted son to his friends?

Upon seeing my confused expression, Gabe explains in an amused tone, "I asked Tomoe this morning to bring over some of her special drink, and Honzou offered to make you breakfast. Maria came over uninvited."

He says the last part with a sense of resentment as he glares at her. The EMT only grins and folds her arms across her chest. "Tomoe and I were planning on having breakfast when you interrupted our plans, so I decided to visit too."

"Wait…"I mumble as another question hits me and they all stop to listen. Turning to Gabe, I inquire, "How did you know I was at that party last night?"

"Naomi's girl called me and told me where you were," he replies casually and shrugs. "She seemed real worried."

I bite my lip. Why would Alyssa do that? Sure, maybe she saved me from a really dangerous situation, yet I still can't help but feel a bit betrayed. Friends aren't supposed to rat each other out when they make a mistake.

And then I remember Ruth and the phone call. My memory is a bit foggy and I can't recall what she said. All I know is that I wasn't happy with what she said. Maybe that is why Alyssa reacted the way she did.

Looking around the room, I spy my cell phone lying on the floor. As I pick it up, I notice the doctors are strangely quiet and they watch me flip it open. Gabe's smile is gone.

Two missed calls from Gregory Collins. Yep, they definitely went through my phone.

"I-I've been meaning to ask…" Tomoe breaks the silence with her soft, hesitant voice. "Who _is_ Doctor Collins? I've been hearing rumors from the nurses but they can't all be true."

"Ask Joshua," Gabe answers in a suddenly cold tone. "He's the one that has been hanging out with him everyday."

His swift hostility unnerves me and I take a moment to respond carefully, "Doctor Collins was engaged to my mom for a while but then she left him for Gabe..."

My hands are shaking again and the room swims. I try to remember more details that Collins told me but thinking only makes my headache worse.

"Is that all?" Tomoe inquires. Her high-pitched voice is going to kill me.

"Basically," Gabe retorts.

"So why are you mad at him if you got the girl in the end?" Maria questions impatiently.

Holding my throbbing head in my hands, I rub my temples and grumble, "Fuck."

"Drink this, Joshua," Gabe orders in a softer tone. He holds the mug of weird Japanese tea in front of me and I'm careful not to breathe.

Desperate for any sense of relief, I grab it from his hand and guzzle it. Being the hung-over kid that I am, a lot of it misses my mouth and drips down my face, though I still manage to drink most of it. The liquid is heavy and bitter, like spoiled milk and mud stirred together. It sticks to my tongue, the taste worsening by the second. My eyes begin to water and I think my taste buds are committing suicide. Snatching a cup of water from the table, I rapidly wash the horrible liquid down my burning throat.

"Holy mother fucking shit balls damn!" I shout, gasping for breath, and pour more water down my throat.

From across the room, Maria chuckles, "Disgusting right?"

"Your vocabulary is…interesting," Tomoe mutters a bit fearfully and looks at me with wide eyes.

"Feel any better?" Gabe asks.

"Um…no!" I retort angrily though the world isn't spinning, so I guess it works a little. My nausea has increased tenfold though.

He pushes himself off the couch and begins walking towards the bathroom. "I'll get the shower started for you," he calls over his shoulder.

"Wait, you still haven't answered my question!" Maria snaps and quickly steps in front of him. Holding her head high, she stares at him with her intimidating bright green eyes.

"It's none of your business," Gabe grumbles and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"Why won't you –,"

"Leave him be, Maria," Tomoe interrupts in her delicate voice. "It is against the path of honor to meddle in another's personal life."

Maria frowns and glares at Gabe for a moment before she steps out of his way. As Gabe gets the shower ready, I eat some of the eggs but after two bites I already feel ill again. Tomoe insists that I drink some more of her bubbling shit tea (but she doesn't call it that). Thankfully, Gabe tells me the shower is ready before she can make me.

I'm about to close the door to the bathroom when Gabe spins around. Grinning, he says casually, "By the way, you're grounded for two weeks."

* * *

><p>They say time heals a hangover but it certainly doesn't feel that way. Hours later and my headache, though not quite as painful, still punches my skull and I feel achy all over. Stupid bubbling shit tea failed me.<p>

Tomoe, Maria, and Honzou were gone by the time I finished my shower (they probably had work to do). Gabe then dragged me to the hospital with him. Even though he has Sundays off, he is often called in to fix some resident's mistake. It's Collins' day off too, which leaves me sitting on a bench in the hospital's garden. Hung-over. Alone. Bored.

Yeah, it's a real party.

I'm shivering in my thin jacket but the freezing air cools my hot skin and I eagerly inhale the freshness. Out here the world is still and quiet. I cannot hear the sounds of frantic doctors or fervent families, just the distant hum of Sunday morning traffic. The sky is a dark, ominous gray. Thin sheets of snow covers the wilted flowers and I remember the night when I walked through this very garden. Hours later my mom died, yet I'm not scared as I was before. I feel as though I'm frozen in time, before my mother passed on.

Despite my calmness, there is one problem that continues to worry me. I check my phone again for any sign of Alyssa. I've sent her five texts and three calls but she still hasn't responded. That can't be good.

The silence of my new world is broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. The hard snow cracks under the intruder's weight and I turn to see a huge man with dark skin and slicked back green hair. The Asian-disco-body-builder is no other than Hank.

"Do you mind if I join you?" He asks in his deep, kind voice.

"It's all yours," I mumble and he sits on the stone bench beside me. For a moment we just sit there, watching our white breath fade into the cold air.

"How are you feeling?" he asks politely.

I hesitate. Did Gabe tell him about my wild night out?

"You look a bit beat, but don't worry," he says reassuringly. "The alcohol should be out of your system and you'll feel much better soon."

Yep, he told him. Thank you, Gabe, for flaunting your drunken son around as proof that the new Cunningham family is a complete failure.

"Has he told _everyone_?" I grumble angrily.

Hank shakes his head. "No, just me."

Sighing, I stare at dead rose and rub my aching head. Hank's a nice guy. I would like him a lot more if he weren't so close to Gabe. The only good that can come of that is that he must know some things about his past. Of course, that depends on how long they've been friends.

"How long have you known Gabe?" I question nonchalantly and Hank looks pleased that I'm instigating small talk.

"For some time now," he responds pleasantly. "I completed my residency here with your father."

If my muscles didn't feel like they all died this morning, I'd smile at the small bit of hope I have.

"With Collins too?" I clarify.

Nodding, he explains, "Yes, but I did not know Doctor Collins well. Lisa and I were fairly good friends though."

Rubbing my numb hands together, I study his expression closely. "What were they like, as a couple?"

"Collins or Gabe?" Hank asks.

"Both."

"Well, for about the first year of our residency Lisa and Gregory Collins were quite happy together," Hank says as he tugs at his sleeve of his short doctor's coat. "They were…like, the _professional_ couple. They never showed PDA but it was clear Collins cared for her. He'd talk about her whenever he got the chance, how they were practically engaged as children, and he took her to every function the hospital had.

"I watched Gabe and Lisa become good friends throughout the year," Hank continues in a hushed voice as he watches a hawk soar gracefully across the bleak sky. "I don't know what happened, but one Friday they were still just friends, and then a week later Collins was gone and Lisa and Gabe were a couple, though they weren't flaunting it. I was probably the only one who really knew in the beginning of their relationship. When Lisa was with him she was much more at ease with him and didn't seem so…polished."

He pauses and bites his lip in deep thought. His foot pokes at a thin layer of ice as he struggles to recall all the details. "When Lisa was with Collins, she acted just as professional and perfect as he did," he explains slowly. "She was always dressed well and looked ready for a business meeting at any moment. Of course she was still well dressed once she and Gabe got together, just in a different way. Well…that is what the nurses said at least. They don't try very hard to keep their gossiping to themselves."

"Was she happier with Gabe?" I inquire.

"Definitely," he responds without hesitation, but why wouldn't she be happy with Collins? He seems like a great guy who wouldn't ditch his family.

"Doctor Collins is an intelligent, passionate man and rock solid when it comes to surgery," Hank adds as he stares at me deeply with his beady eyes. "But when it comes to love you don't want to marry somebody just because they are polite and can give you a stable life. You marry somebody because they change your life for the better and make you happy. That is what Gabe did for your mom."

"B-but…he left her," I whisper.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean they didn't love each other before then. Why Gabe left is a completely different story, one I can't answer. But I can tell you that I am positive Lisa never regretted her decision. After all, she had you."

My head is throbbing again and I sigh, my white breath floating through the air like a miniature cloud. Elvis on steroids is right. Again.

"Come inside," he offers as he stands up. "If you stay out here any longer you might get frost bite. You can rest up in my office and have some snacks if you'd like."

I don't reply but stand up too. Taking one last look at the dead, frozen garden, I leave my timeless world and return to the hospital.

* * *

><p>By Monday my body has returned to its normal, exhausted, depressed self. At night I was bombarded with dreams of Gabe telling my mother off and her weeping for hours. Once out of the house, Gabe then used his super powers to fly to Alaska where he fought a monster version of RONI over a pack of burnt out cigarettes. I didn't realize it was a dream until he started breathing fire.<p>

All weekend Alyssa has refused to answer my calls but, as I march into school today, I am determined to get her to talk to me. I make a beeline for her locker. As usual, she is sitting on the ground with her back to the wall and her head in her latest crime novel. Her russet hair hides her face and her thin legs are tucked underneath her. Standing in front of her, I look down until she notices me. We lock eyes and I know we have some serious talking to do.

"Hey," she mumbles nervously.

"Hey," I respond, equally uncertain about my feelings. For a second we just look at each other and all the other noises of a typical high school hall become nothing but a hum. Closing her book, she stands up and brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

"How are you feeling?" She inquires with genuine concern.

"Fine," I answer quickly, brushing it off. Taking a deep breath, I finally ask, "Why did you call Gabe and tell him where I was?"

"Because I was worried about you," she replies instantly innocently enough, but she isn't smiling and she eyes me suspiciously.

"Yeah, I know it was all good intentions and what not, but…I mean, that isn't exactly something friends _do_," I argue, and the more I think about it the more annoyed I become. "What if I was enjoying that party and didn't want to be dragged out of the house and be grounded for two weeks? Maybe I was actually having _fun_."

"Were you enjoying that party?" She inquires. Her voice is too hard to read – is she concerned or bitter? – but her emerald eyes are calculating like Naomi's. It makes me nervous.

"A-at the time…yeah," I answer, unnerved by my own confession.

"So is that what you are going to do now for fun? Get completely wasted?" She snaps and crosses her arms.

"No! Look, I'm not going to do that again, okay? Its just…friends don't _do_ that, Alyssa!" I yell in frustration, unable to express how I feel about all this because, frankly, I still don't know how I feel about it.

"From what Ruth said I had good reason to be worried about you –"

"What did Ruth say to you?"

Silence.

I cock an eyebrow as she bites her lips. "Alyssa, what did she say?"

"Just that you were drunk out of your mind," she answers stubbornly but I have a feeling she isn't telling the whole truth.

"What did she say to you?" I persist.

Her shoulders slacken and she stares at her novel. It takes her a few seconds for her to admit in a slightly choked up voice, "I-I know you are going through some tough times but that doesn't justify you getting drunk, and Ruth almost…"

"Don't change the subject," I order harshly and she looks up at me with wide green eyes.

"I'm trying everything I can do to help you, Joshua," she blurts out. "I know everything sucks right now but I just want to help and I hate seeing you like this."

"Why can't you just tell me what Ruth said to you?" I interrupt.

Frustration flashes in her deep green eyes as she looks down the hallway. "You wouldn't understand," she mumbles.

For some reason I snap then. Maybe I'm just feeling grouchy this morning after a rough weekend or I'm simply fed up with everybody keeping secrets from me. Gabe, my mother, and now even Alyssa are retaining information. I'm tired of feeling completely clueless all the time, always conjuring theories for why something is the way that it is. Just _once_ would like a straight answer!

"No, Alyssa, _you _don't understand!" I retort loud enough to turn a few heads and she averts her wide-eyed gaze to me. "Justin was right, you don't understand anything! We can't all have a perfect family to coddle us! Sorry I got drunk, okay? I'm stupid and a failure, so sorry I can't reach your fucking perfect expectations!"

We're both stunned for a moment. Speechless, Alyssa stares at me with her frightful deep green eyes while her mouth hangs open, like I just slapped her in the face. It seems to take her a few seconds to register what I've just said, and suddenly her hands are clenched into fists and her lips form a tight line. Water begins to fill her eyes but she keeps her head high.

"Y-you…you're wrong!" she stutters and swallows a lump in her throat. Her mouth twists into a frown and her green eyes darken. When she speaks again it is with a newfound ferocity that I have never encountered from her before, "In case you've forgotten, I've been an orphan my whole life! My two foster parents both ended in complete disaster. The first couple divorced and the second one was a bitter old woman who died in an explosion set by a crazy terrorist! I've been taking care of myself since I was baby, but you wouldn't know that because you never bothered to ask! So don't say I don't understand what you are going through because, if anything, I understand you better than anybody else!"

Her mouth opens and closes once more but nothing comes out. A hot, angry tear slides down her face and I can feel people staring at us. Somehow, she manages to keep her head held high as she spins away from me and marches rapidly down the hallway. I watch her get lost in the mob of people, disappearing completely.

I have that painful-shocked feeling you get when somebody punches you really hard in the gut, the kind that leaves you kneeled over and gasping for air. I've only felt this way once before and that was in a little league soccer game. This is much worse.

I never questioned Alyssa about her past. I met her in the hospital after the explosion she was caught in, but I never considered her life before then. Forever I've assumed her parents died in the explosion and that they were total jerks; therefore, she never talked about them. Asking had seemed rude, but now….

I let my head fall forward and rest on the locker. Closing my eyes, I release a deep, self-loathing sigh and grumble,

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>Of course Justin isn't in school today, and of course when I demand answers from Ruth she plays dumb. Talk about frustrating.<p>

I see Alyssa at lunch but she doesn't sit with me. I don't blame her, I really messed it up big time. Throughout the day all I can think about is how I should go about apologizing to her. Should I even bother? All she wanted to do was help me and I practically pushed her down the stairs.

We have a paper due in American Literature but of course I didn't do it. I then learn that I got another F on a chemistry test. Do I have any more reason to hate myself?

I leave school two periods early and walk the two miles home. The air is much warmer today, a sign of good spring weather, but I feel frozen like a wilted flower in Resurgam's garden.

By the time I reach home I've cried as much as I will allow myself (two tears) and walked the rest off. I plan on going straight to bed for another twelve days when I bump into Gabe on my way there.

"Joshua?" He gawks, surprised that I've come home so early.

I open my mouth to ask what he is doing home on a Monday, but nothing comes out. He studies me with his sharp ochre eyes and, sensing my distress, gently drags me to the couch and forces me to sit down. Once there, I bury my head in my hands and mumble all the curses I know.

"What happened?" Gabe asks after a minute of listening to my fowl language.

"I'm the worst person in the world," I grudgingly respond.

"I'm sure there are worse people, kid," he says in a grumble, and I imagine that he's listing all the people he loathes in his mind.

"Doubtful."

He sighs and pauses to think. I spend the brief moment of silence cursing my existence.

"Do you want a beer?" he offers after a few seconds.

I lift my head just so I can glare at him, wishing he'd burst into flames.

"Too soon?" he asks.

I nod.

He rolls his eyes and folds his hands behind his head. Crossing his legs, he inquires curiously, "Well, what happened?"

Releasing a deep, shaky breath, I lean back on the couch and confess in a flood of words, "I was annoyed with Alyssa for ratting me out so I confronted her and then I told her she wouldn't understand but I was so wrong! If anything she understands more than anybody and I wouldn't give her a chance to even explain. I'm also failing all my classes, Justin hates me, and I think Ruth may grow up to be a rapist. Holy shit! I just thought of that but I can totally see that happening! Oh God that's – "

"Joshua!" Gabe cuts me off before I can go completely insane. "Just…just breathe, okay?"

I shut up but my mind is still reeling with all the crappy aspects of my life.

"Do you know how you're going to apologize to her?" He questions as he eyes me closely, as if he can use his diagnosis skills to name all the solutions to my problems.

I shrug. "I might not even bother. She probably hates me," I confess despondently and stare at nothing.

He chuckles and I glare at him because this isn't a laughing matter. Confidently, he says, "I don't think that girl can ever hate you from what I've seen."

I'm not sure what he means by that but I retort anyways, "I was acting like an ass, the sure fire way to get people to hate you. Surely you know all about that."

He grins but I wasn't kidding. "Sassy, eh?"

Groaning, I roll my eyes and decide, "I'm going to bed. See you – "

"Oh no you aren't," he orders and pushes me back down on the couch. I open my mouth to argue but he speaks before I can say a word against him.

"Do you know I was in the army?"

He isn't smiling now and there is no façade of easiness about him. Confused, I ask, "Is this relevant?"

He nods and repositions himself on the couch. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward and stares at me with his steady gaze. I watch him simply sit there for a few seconds, as if he is returning to his army days in his mind.

"A year after Lisa and I married, I was called by the draft to go to Costigar and fight the Razu tribe," he begins simply but in heavier tone. Little Guy had mentioned briefly that Gabe was a veteran, but I figured he was like my history teacher who boasts about being a soldier even though all he did was fix air conditioners. I guess I was wrong.

I don't know much about the war in Costigar except it was incredibly dangerous and barbaric, or at least that is what my "veteran" history teacher said. I quickly think of all the quick facts I know. The enemy kidnapped children and trained them to fight. Landmines were everywhere, many of which neither side knew about because they were both so disorganized. There were many stories of men walking straight over their own explosives, which of course didn't end well. Perhaps one of the worst aspects of the war was the Costigar Disease, which killed thousands. Anybody who went there was said to have suffered either mentally or physically, or both. Suddenly, I am much more interested in what Gabe has to say.

"Long story short, I watched some of my comrades die in an ambush led by the Razu tribe, and then they took a survivor – Pat, was his name – and either tortured him or used him in their experiments. Or both. I'm not sure, all I know is that he was never seen again," he explains in a casual tone but I hear hostility leaking out of it. His amber eyes are cold and his fingers drum on his leg, like he's ready to grab a gun and start doing some serious shooting.

I'm not really sure what to say to that. Sorry? Bummer? Both sound stupid compared to how awful that must have been. I'm also still wondering how this is relevant.

He suddenly releases a bitter chuckle that chills my bones as he stares at his trembling hands. "It was shit," he grumbles. "Shittiest days I ever knew, and then a few weeks later I was infected with the Costigar Disease. It was just becoming a pandemic but somehow they managed to treat it and I was sent home early. But…"

"You were never the same again," I finish for him. His silence is enough to confirm all my assumptions about his time there. We've studied war in school before and analyzed soldier's blogs in a vain attempt to understand the horror some experience. My history teacher constantly said that one cannot imagine the trauma certain people face. I never acknowledged this until now because all I had wanted to do was remind the teacher that he fixed air conditioners.

"What happened when you came home?" I ask softly. I feel as if I am carefully traveling across the deserts of Costigar, fearful of stepping in the wrong place and exploding into tiny pieces. Gabe seems relaxed now despite his obvious sorrow but that could easily change.

His fingers fiddle with each other, as if they are trying to conjure cigarettes out of the air. Looking out into nothing, he explains in an exhausted tone, "By the time I returned Lisa was seven months pregnant and she couldn't have been happier. I was glad to see her but the loss of my comrades still haunted me. She noticed that there was something wrong with me, but when she asked I refused to talk about it. I told her she wouldn't understand even though I never gave her the chance to try. Later, I realized how stupid it was of me not to have done so but it was too late. I already left."

Was this what I was hoping for? An explanation for his leaving? I could accept it as such, but a part of me is still unsatisfied. Maybe his depression was so great that he just bailed, but if he truly loved my mom then wouldn't being around her have helped?

Unless, of course, he didn't truly love her, in which case I'd lose the tiny bit of respect I have for him.

"Don't be stupid like me, don't push her away. Go to Alyssa and tell her you're sorry, because if you don't you may just regret it the rest of your life," he instructs in his failure-is-not-an-option voice. "And when I say go, I mean as soon as possible. Time only makes it worse," he instructs.

"I thought I was grounded?" I remind him warily but he just smiles. It's sad and small, but at least it's there.

"Yeah…" he mumbles and shrugs. "Punishing you sounds like a lot of unnecessary work."

Awesome, I'm out of the –

"But, Joshua," he says quickly before I can be relieved from the withdrawal. Looking at me seriously, he decides, "I'm getting you a therapist."

"A therapist?" I gawk, suddenly feeling like a crazy person just at the suggestion of it. "But I don't need a therapist."

"Maybe you don't," he agrees though I know he's set on his decision due to his steady, adamant gaze. "It won't hurt to go though. From what I hear life is a little rough right now, eh? Alyssa, school, your mom, me…. You might as well try."

"But –"

"I know a guy. He's real chill and won't make you answer stupid questions," he pauses and looks away from me. "If Lisa were here she'd be worried about you, and you wouldn't want her to worry, would you?"

I remain silent and bite my lip in thought. Smart, Gabe. He remembers something about me from when he diagnosed me some years ago: I hate making people worry, especially my mom. Clever bastard.

He takes my silence as more resistance. Sighing, he reaches into his pocket and brings out a pack of cigarettes. With swift fingers he flips it open and draws out one of the little tools of death.

"I'm worried, too, you know," he adds softly, like he is uncomfortable confessing this. I look at him with confusion and he rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that look. I might be a shitty dad but I can still worry."

"I thought you were just my landlord?"

"Even landlords have feelings," he grins and rubs the top of my head, making my hair even crazier. Before I get the chance to respond or bug him about his weird way of expressing affection, he stands up and walks into his room, leaving me in contemplative silence.

There is a strange tingling in my chest, one that I can't name. All I can think of is how strange it is for Gabe to have feelings, _and_ confess to being a dad. I never realized until now that I always thought of him as some heartless bastard. He's still a bastard, just not so heartless.

Sighing, I look around the messy apartment until my eyes land on Fishy tucked in the opposite corner of the couch. The soft light makes his orange eye shine and brings out a few strings of glitter in his fur. I'm not sure how he ended up there but I don't have the heart to throw the tattered thing back into my gloomy room. It's suffered enough for sixteen years.

Maybe this therapist can help me learn more about Gabe. In the mean time, however, I have something I need to fix.

* * *

><p>Author's Note (sorry for the length)<p>

As usual, I give huge thanks to my wonderful beta reader **Tell Her This** for fixing my stupid and not so stupid errors, but today she gets even bigger thanks! Alyssa's back story (which is briefly mentioned in this chapter and will be a key component to next chapter) was created by her in her story _Welcome Home_. So if you like Alyssa, back-stories, and good writing, go read it! :D All credit for that goes to her. Not me. Her. Yea!

I also apologize for how terribly long it took for me to upload this chapter. I had some difficulty writing this, partly because I have recently been very depressed. My guidance counselor actually thought I could be clinically depressed. Right after that I went to Italy for five days and I quit my job and I just got my license a few hours, so I'm feeling much better now and not so depressed (but I'll probably have mental breakdowns every few days). I guess Joshua's depression is how I express my own?

I also want to apologize for the fact that this story doesn't follow the TC timeline. The Costigar War took place in UTK2, which is a lot later than it is in this story. Whatever, it's not a big deal. Let's just say it's been going on for a while, which is possible, right?

By the way, that history teacher who brags about his army days even though he only fixed air conditioners (not that that isn't important). Yeah, that's my history teacher from a few years back. :) HE'S REAL GUYS! He was also fired last year. Now he works at Panera Bread. Poor guy.

Sorry for that unusually long author's note! Next chapter is much more exciting and Naomi reveals some information that could change things around drastically. ;)

Thanks **Indochine Ramera, magikid196, Canada Cowboy, Tell Her This, Liliafax, **and **ADarknessInHaven** for your awesome reviews! They make me very happy! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well and feedback is greatly appreciated.

~~Wave~~


	9. Light on Friday

Chapter Nine – Light on Friday

* * *

><p>I've gone insane.<p>

I'm walking three miles through the pouring rain at eleven on a Friday night. My clothes are completely soaked and I might be lost. I think a worm just wiggled into my shoe.

Passing a shadowy alley, I see some movement out of the corner of my eye. Shit, I don't want to get mugged.

This is a bad idea. This is so stupid and irrational. I can't believe I'm risking getting mugged for this.

But I need to do this.

I walk rapidly with my head down so the rain won't blind me and so I don't draw any attention from homeless people. After another ten minutes of me questioning my own sanity, the Kimishima house finally comes into view. It is a small, white building that looks abandoned in this stormy weather. All the lights are off and water trickles from the roof in mini waterfalls.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I walk past the front door and to the back of the house. Looking up, I see a faint glow illuminating Alyssa's window. She's still awake.

Now I could try going through the front door like a sane person, but Doctor Kimishima has this habit of _listening _to her daughter's wishes. Alyssa has gotten mad at me before when we were really little over stupid things, which she would then lock herself in her house and refuse to come out. Doctor Kimishima wouldn't let me in to console her before because she is a believer of _she'll come out when she's ready_. It's a nice theory, but really puts me in a dilemma.

I turn to the massive oak tree right outside her window. We used to climb this when we were little, except now I weigh a lot more and the rain makes the branches soft and slippery. I also have a fear of heights. Yea.

As I reach for the first branch, a part of me says _you're going to break all your bones and get mugged repeatedly_. I groan and tell my brain to shut up and let me be reckless for once.

My fingers can barely grip the soaked wood as I clumsily climb the shaking tree. My foot slips at one point, causing me a mini heart attack. All I can think is how much I hate heights and how much easier this looks in movies. Damn it, Hollywood, you lied to me.

I finally reach a thick branch that ends just outside Alyssa's window, which makes me feel like such a creep. She is lying in bed with her lamp on as she reads her mystery novel; meanwhile, I'm outside about to break this branch in half. For once I'm grateful for being underweight

Wrapping my legs and arms around the branch, I scoot forward. Once in reach, I stretch my arm out to its full extent and knock rapidly on the glass.

She doesn't notice. I knock again and, as she glances around her room, I knock even louder. She finally notices me and just stares for a second, like I'm some kind of ghost. Suddenly she flings her blankets off and rushes to the window.

"Joshua?" She gawks as she pulls the window open.

I can't help but smile when she finally talks to me. She's been avoiding me all week, making it very difficult to find a good time to apologize to her, so I finally found a way to confront her…as long as I don't fall off this tree that is.

"Can I come in? Please?" I ask and try not to sound like an imploring fool, but I'm not above begging.

There is a flicker of reluctance in her green eyes but she would never leave a person clinging desperately to a tree branch. Opening the window wider, she moves out of the way as I crawl through and somehow land on my feet. Oh, ground, how much I missed you.

"Did you _walk_ all the way from your apartment to my house?" She inquires incredulously as she studies my soaked clothes.

I nod.

She's stunned for a moment and I just stare at her, waiting for whatever's next. Instead of her usual fashionable outfits she's wearing black yoga pants and a large red sweatshirt that I gave her about a year ago. I got it for swim team but she always loved it because it is so soft on the inside. For some reason, seeing it on her makes me content.

Concern suddenly takes over her as she rushes to her closet and pulls out a towel. Shoving it into my hands, she whispers rapidly, "Oh, God, Joshua, you're soaking wet. Do you need anything else? I know we have a pair of pants that you accidentally left when you went to Gabe's."

"It's okay – "

"No, I'll go get them," she decides and spins on her heels. Just as she is about to leave the room, she looks over her shoulder and orders, "When I get back you better tell me what you're doing here."

I grin. She has trouble understanding what it means to truly be furious with someone, as in you don't help them get dry before asking for an explanation.

Alyssa's room is bigger than my closet space at Gabe's with a soft lavender carpet and ivory walls. The lamp by her double bed releases a weak glow and casts the rest of the room in black shadows. Books are stacked into random piles and clothes litter the floor, but at least it doesn't smell like an ashtray or have rotting food everywhere.

As I use the towel to dry my soaking hair and face, she returns with my old gray sweatpants and leaves the room again as I put them on. She comes back shortly and sits on her bed without a word. Her eyes are cold now as she watches me take off my soaked hoodie.

I look at her but she remains silent with her arms crossed and her mouth in a small frown. The sternness in her expression reminds me of Doctor Kimishima's rather constant countenance, and I find it intimidating. I'm half expecting her to grab my tie and call me Little Guy.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out.

She doesn't move and looks at me with cat-like stoniness. I've never seen her act so cold before. Her unprecedented behavior only adds to my shame. Sighing, I take a step closer and let my horrible guilt control my words, "I was stupid, Alyssa. I shouldn't have gone to that party, especially with Ruth, and I _really_ shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did."

Her expression is unreadable but I won't give up. Sitting next to her, I add sincerely, "I was _so_ wrong, Alyssa, and so awful to you. I want to know what your life was like before the explosion. Please tell me so I can fully feel like the asshole that I am."

I smile at the last part, hoping that she'll grin too, but she remains emotionless and won't look at me. "No, Joshua," she shakes her head slowly. "You don't have to pretend like you care."

"But of course I care – "

"No you don't!" she whispers harshly and looks at me with suddenly terribly sad eyes, as if surprised by her own outburst. Turning away from me, she mumbles, "Nobody cares about orphans or foster kids."

Taking her small hand in mine, I reassure her, "You know that isn't true, Alyssa. I care about you and so does Dr. Kimishima, Little Guy, and a whole lot of other people."

She doesn't respond and just wipes her watery eyes with her other hand. Silence falls between us for a moment before I ask again,

"What happened?"

"I don't what to talk about it," she refuses softly. Standing up, she slips her hand out of mine and walks to the window.

"Have you told anybody about it?" I ask.

She remains silent.

"Have you even told Naomi?"

A tear falls down her face. Quickly wiping it away, she turns around to face me. Her body appears much smaller and frailer than it usually does with my large sweatshirt hanging off her thin shoulders. It seems impossible that somebody so small could have survived an explosion and more.

Sighing heavily, she closes her eyes and walks towards me. With slow, exhausted movements, she sits beside me again but then falls back on the bed. Her russet hair lies in swirls around her head and her eyes stare up at the ceiling. Lying beside her, I wait for her to speak.

"I often wonder if Naomi really cares about me," she confesses quietly as her hands fold together across her stomach. "I lived with two different families before I met her and I was not wanted in either one. I was the bad child. If something were broken then it would be my fault. No questions asked."

She turns her head and looks at me with pleading, confused eyes. I want to say right away that Naomi definitely cares about her, but something tells me I should let her speak.

Taking in a deep breath, she returns her gaze to the ceiling and continues in a delicate whisper, "My first family only adopted me because they wanted to replace their dead daughter. I looked just like her but we were nothing alike. She enjoyed ballet and Barbies while all I wanted to do was play soccer. At first they cared for me like I was their little princess, but then 'my mom' got pregnant and I was suddenly a burden. I loved that baby – Livvy was what I called her – and I often wonder how she is now. I doubt she remembers me."

I focus on her more than I have in school for the past few months. Every detail is important to me now – the smooth curve of her nose, Livvy, soccer, the smell of her hair – everything.

"What then?" I persist gently.

She sighs and mumbles with bitterness, "The couple filed for divorce and I was _returned_ to the orphanage. A few years later the home closed down and I was sent to live with an evil old woman who was obsessed with bingo and game shows. She treated me like I was crap on the bottom of her shoe. One time I was cleaning the dishes and broke a plate – an honest mistake – and she slapped me. Then she caught me playing with Chloe, who was a stray at the time, and beat me till I was covered in bruises."

She looks at me again and doesn't say anything else. Her face is so close to mine that I can see strands of blue in her bright, sorrowful green eyes. I reach out and take her hand in mine, and then give it an encouraging squeeze.

"I feel guilty sometimes that I was never sad about the old lady's death," she admits in a rush as if unable to control herself. "She was nasty and abusive, so when she got caught in that bomb…." She chokes up on her words and won't look at me again. Her hands tremble as she forces herself to finish, "It's scary to me that, at the time, I was _grateful_ the terrorist planted the bomb…. And that feeling scares me, Joshua. Shouldn't I at least have felt a little sad?"

She looks at me pleadingly, begging me for some form of comfort. I'm not like my therapist. I don't know how to deal with these psychological problems, so I just say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Alyssa, you are _not_ a bad person," I whisper sincerely. "That lady sounds horrible and you have good reason to hate her. If she were still around today I'd go right to her house and burn all of her bingo cards."

For some reason she smiles at that – perhaps the image it brings is funny – while a tear rolls down her cheek. Releasing a weak giggle, she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

"Damn, Alyssa. Why do our lives suck so much?" I ask with an exhausted sigh.

"I don't know…." she shrugs. "Maybe if they didn't then we'd be too perfect and everything would cease to exist."

"That doesn't make any sense," I remind her.

"Does anything?" she responds and we fall into silence.

My mind instantly wanders to her story. There is so much that I never knew, that I never bothered to ask. It is hard enough adjusting to Gabe, but adjusting to three different families must be terribly stressful. Two of those attempts failed epically – one divorced and one died in an explosion.

Whoa. Now I feel incredibly guilty about what I said to her.

"I am really, _really_ sorry," I apologize again. "I don't know what got into me, I just kind of snapped."

"Don't worry about it – "

"But I was so – "

"I seriously can't stay mad at you, Joshua," she interrupts with a sad smile gracing her pink lips. "It's hard to hold a grudge against somebody who walked through the city in the middle of the night in the pouring rain just to apologize."

"Well, at least I did something right."

My heart does a strange flutter thing as she leans her head against my shoulder and entwines both her hands in mine. Strands of her russet hair fall underneath my chin and I can smell her shampoo. Suddenly, the room got a few degrees warmer.

"It will get better," she whispers so quietly that I can barely hear her. "I know from experience."

For a few seconds I just focus on the feel of her body against mine and my soaking hair damping the blankets around me. It seems strange yet right being with Alyssa like this, something I can't quite describe. My thoughts soon return to her past, however, and I can't help but try to imagine the people in her life. Is it bad that I want to punch about all of them?

"I can't believe she hit you," I murmur, accidentally thinking aloud, which is a habit I seem to be picking up from Gabe.

Alyssa doesn't respond to that but I can tell from the, "Mmm…" that she has a lot on her mind.

I concentrate on keeping my mouth shut so that I don't make her feel worse by commenting on all the horrible aspects of her past. Imagining what it would be like to be completely rejected from the ones I love seems unreal, but then I realize I've lived through that same betrayal. Gabe never wanted me, and he would have had his way if my mother hadn't died. Perhaps this is what Alyssa meant when she said she understood me better than anybody else.

Looking over, I see that her eyes are dazed and watery as if she is reliving all the memories. In an attempt to get her mind off of her past, I announce out of the blue, "I have a therapist now."

"Good," she replies slowly, and she blinks away the tears. "I'm glad to hear that. What's he like?"

"He's young. Fresh out of college I think," I answer simply and stare up at the ceiling. "He likes classic rock and McDonalds and doesn't ask too many stupid questions," I continue. "I guess he might be able to help me…but don't tell Gabe that. I couldn't stand it if he knew he was right about something."

"You're so weird," she teases with a slight smile in her tone.

"Says the girl who spends her Friday night reading a book," I retort with a wide, playful grin.

"Says the boy who spent his Friday night walking through the streets of Portland in the pouring rain," she replies quickly.

"Why are we so lame?" I ask and she releases a soft chuckle.

We fall to silence again. Closing my eyes, I rest my head on top of hers and listen to the dull hum on the pounding rain on the roof. My body is still damp but it is warming up now, and all I want to do is get under those covers and sleep forever.

A sudden weight dips the mattress. Startled, I look around to see a pair of golden eyes staring at me from across the bed.

"Hi, Chloe," I murmur as the sleek black cat walks silently toward me. The light from the lamp makes her golden eyes glow. Her body is thin and her fur is turning gray around the mouth, signs of an aging cat. As usual, she begins licking my face despite my gentle pushes against her body.

"She's just trying to clean you off," Alyssa reminds me as she sits up on the bed and scoops Chloe into her arms. Kissing the top of the cat's head, she smiles and adds, "We've been through so much together, haven't we, Chloe?"

Chloe doesn't seem to understand what Alyssa said. She wiggles out of her arms and proceeds to lick my face. The cat is cute and all but licking isn't something I really enjoy, so I back up on the bed and hide my face behind a pillow. Chloe stands on top of me and swishes her tail against my leg, demanding my attention.

Alyssa giggles and pries the pillow out of my hand. Chloe instantly starts licking my face again. Ugh, cats.

"I don't see why you don't like her," Alyssa muses as she pets the black licking-obsessed feline. "She's _so_ cute."

Lifting Chloe off of me, I place her in Alyssa's lap and then proceed to clean my face with the pillow. "She's very cute when she's sitting down…sleeping…with her tongue in her mouth," I correct and sneak a quick glare at Chloe.

Alyssa playfully rolls her eyes and kisses the top of the cat's head again before releasing Chloe. Seeming to have gotten the message, she curls up by my leg. Her thin yet fluffy tail covers her nose but she continues to stare at me with her huge golden eyes.

Alyssa lies down beside me again and asks, "So what is new in the life of Joshua Cunningham?"

I begin by telling her about Gabe's army days and then Collins' latest story regarding my mother. She mentions how she found flowers in the back of Little Guy's car and of course she thinks they're for Naomi, but I'm positive he'll be too shy to actually give them to her. Somehow the conversation leads to the crazy food fight last year in the cafeteria and how I accidentally spilled soup all over her head (she punches my shoulder again for that one). Time seems nonexistent here as we continue to just talk about everything, with the occasional interruption of Chloe trying to lick my face again.

Somewhere during our time together I realize that I've smiled more than I have in a long time, and I think it's the first time that I have laughed in a month. My face actually hurts from it all but I won't complain.

I finally glance over at the clock and muse, "Wow, it's already one thirty in the morning."

Alyssa yawns and snuggles with her pillow. Closing her eyes, she mumbles, "No it's not…"

Sleep is starting to work its way through me again and my eyelids feel heavy, but I don't want to doze off.

"Don't fall asleep," I yawn, suddenly feeling much weaker but in a peaceful way. With slow movements, I lazily brush strands of hair out of her face. Her breathing is soft and rhythmic. She looks so innocent, like a child, and I cannot imagine her living with such cruel people.

She actually looks…cute.

Rolling my eyes, I blame my strange thoughts on my exhausted mind. The room is silent now and I listen to her shallow breathing mixing with the hum of the pounding rain and my beating heart…

I don't remember falling asleep but suddenly my mind is in coma mood – all that matters is sleep sleep sleep. Everything else is secondary.

Somebody is shaking me but I don't budge. My bed is abnormally comfortable, and it smells good…like flowers. Am I dreaming?

Now something is licking my face. Chloe must be in my dream.

"Joshua…" a girl groans from nearby. "Why are you so hard to wake up?"

More licking occurs and I remember that I hate animals liking my face.

Blinking my eyes open, I grumble, "Chloe…" My voice only makes the cat lick me more. Somebody giggles from nearby and it sounds like Alyssa. Why is Alyssa in my room?

The bed sheets are lavender. Chloe and Alyssa are here.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

I smile.

"Please tell me you know how ridiculously deep you sleep?" Alyssa asks in a whisper as she pulls Chloe away from me.

I nod and roll onto my back. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I glance at the clock. Six in the morning…what the hell?

"Naomi will be checking on me soon," Alyssa explains softly, obviously sensing my dislike for the early hour. "And even though she loves you I doubt she'll like you sleeping in my bed."

Nodding again, I close my eyes and mumble rather incoherently, "I can take a hint."

I try to stand up but I'm moving too fast for my mind, which is still in sleep mode, so I end up rolling off the bed and face planting the floor. Ow.

I hear a soft chuckle from above me before Alyssa quickly corrects herself and asks, "Joshua, are you okay?"

"Urg…" I reply.

Just then the door creaks opens. A sliver of golden light cuts through the dimly lit room. Lying on the other side of the bed and out of view, I only hope that Dr. Kimishima won't walk around to find my sprawled out on the floor.

"Alyssa, what was that noise?" Naomi asks in a curious whisper.

Sounding incredibly sleepy, Alyssa yawns and replies, "Sorry, I fell asleep reading again. The books just fell off the bed."

"Those must be some heavy books," Naomi muses but I can't tell if she knows I've been here. How could she though? Then again, Naomi seems to know everything.

"Mmm…" Alyssa mumbles. "Are you going now?"

"Yes, I'll be leaving in a minute."

"Okay, I'm going back to sleep," Alyssa yawns again.

"Sleep well. I'll see you later today," Naomi whispers. The door clicks closed. Phew.

"You are so graceful," Alyssa teases quietly.

"Mhm…" is my intelligent reply.

She doesn't say anything else. As I lie face down on her floor, I listen to her soft movements. After a few minutes or so, I finally push myself up and stretch my long, aching arms.

Alyssa stands across the room, brushing her shiny russet hair, and smiles at me. "Sleeping that deeply cannot be healthy," she decides as I stand up.

"Lately I either don't sleep at all or sleep for three days," I comment. Running a hand through my wild green hair, I walk towards the window and glance at the rising sun. The sky is a mix of vibrant orange, pale yellows, and dull blues. A cardinal sits on the branch right outside and sings a few notes before fluttering away.

"I should probably be leaving now," I say a bit despondently.

"You can stay here if you'd like," Alyssa casually offers from behind me. "Naomi and Little Guy are leaving early because they have a case a few hours from town – that's why she checked on me. I think they'll be leaving soon."

"Thanks, but I can't push my luck too much with Gabe," I smile softly as she stands beside me. Together we watch the city wake up: the birds fly by, a few cars roll down the street, and people retrieve their mail in bathrobes and slippers. The stillness felt last night is slowly leaking away, yet it doesn't bother me for some reason.

"Will you be walking home?" Alyssa inquires softly.

I nod. "It will be a lot better now than last night."

She smiles at the memory. "You're so ridiculous."

"Ridiculously _good looking_," I correct her and poke her side.

"Modest, too," she replies with a playful smile. With slow movements, she unlocks the window and pulls it open. Fresh spring air drifts in and cools my warm skin.

Alyssa looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to make my grand escape out the window, yet I find myself not wanting to go. Instead I admire the way the sunlight warms her face and makes her green eyes brighter.

"Thank you, Alyssa," I whisper sincerely, ready to make another speech about my idiocy when I discover that I have become speechless. There is so much more that I want to say but now I can't find the words.

And suddenly I'm leaning and she is too. Her breath lightly brushes my face, my heart skips a beat, and then our lips lock together in the sweetest kiss I've ever known. I feel my body growing numb as it often does to block out emotions, but I want this one. My hand moves to find the side of her face, my fingers curl gently around her hair, and my mind dies in some strange mix of bliss and shock.

When we part all I can think of is _whoa_. I want to say something witty or maybe slightly romantic but it's hard to think when my mind is completely fried. She just looks at me with her wide eyes, and I'm so close that I can see the strands of blue again.

Crap, now I really don't want to leave, but I know I have to. No words come to mind still so I just smile.

And she smiles back.

* * *

><p><em>Alyssa<em>

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><p>I've never been the kind of girl who gossips over which boy is hotter, or flirts with every guy she sees. I've never been one for cheesy romantic movies or novels. The only boy I've ever kissed was Tony Haryana, but that was in eighth grade and he caught me by surprise, which doesn't count. So am I happy when Joshua kisses me?<p>

Yes. I am completely thrilled and mesmerized all in one. I've never felt girlier in my life than when my heart was beating so fast that I thought I'd pass out.

Unlike all those other girls who have a new boyfriend every week or so, I've been having mixed feelings about Joshua for a few years now. Sometimes I think we're just friends, and other times I just want him to hug me or take me out on an actual date than another let's-see-what-horrible-movie-we-can-make-fun-of-tonight (though I do love those).

It was incredibly difficult to make sense of my feelings since I'd hate to ruin my relationship with my best friend. He's also older by about fourteen months, and when I was younger this made me worried that he'd outgrow me like a child outgrows his toys. It wasn't a concern to me for a while until Ruth came into the picture.

I had called Joshua that night only for _her_ to answer. She mentioned how he was a great kisser (which I can now say is true) and proceeded to tell me how he has finally realized where he should be hanging out. Not with me at some stupid movie or having dinner with me and my "pathetic attempt for a family," but with older kids who know how to have a good time. _He's outgrown you_.

And could I ever admit this to Joshua without sounding like a lovesick teenager? Of course not…well, maybe after tonight but in the middle of the school hallway? No way.

And, okay, maybe I called Gabe out of a mix of concern and jealousy (mostly concern though!), but none of that matters anymore.

I look to my bed and smile. It will be impossible for me to fall back to sleep now.

For a while I just stroke Chloe's soft, shiny black fur as I replay everything in my mind. I imagine his amber eyes, which seemed so bright in the morning sun, and his hand around mine. If only he didn't sleep like he was sedated, then it would have been perfect.

My stomach rumbles ferociously and, assuming that Naomi and Little Guy have already left, I make my way to the kitchen. I walk silently through the narrow hallway, only stopping to admire the pictures hanging along the wall. They are mostly black and white photographs of Naomi and me. For some reason I am more mesmerized with these pictures than I have been for a while. I stare at one of Naomi and me eating ice on the curb. Naomi had just officially adopted me, and we got ice cream to celebrate. In the photo I'm giggling while she is trying to clean her face off. Despite the mess, she's smiling too.

There are school photos of me as well, and more pictures of Naomi and me beside a Christmas Tree and other celebrations. Three photos of her hometown in Japan are randomly placed between the pictures of us. I wish we could visit but she refuses to even go even to Tokyo. She mentioned once that she left a large part of her life behind in Japan and she can never go back. Of course I'm curious, but when she doesn't want to share something she definitely won't.

I'm sort of the same way. When Naomi and I finally became a family she sometimes asked me what life was like before we knew each other. I refused to tell her more than the bare minimum, because, as strange as it may sound, I was ashamed to have been abused. Now I know it wasn't my fault, but my feelings towards the old lady haven't changed. I still have no sympathy or sorrow over her death. What if Naomi knew this? She'd still love me, right?

Yes, of course she will. I'm more confident in this now that I discussed it with Joshua, and he obviously doesn't hate me. Taking a deep breath, I decide that I should tell her soon. She deserves to know, and maybe she can help me get my feelings straight.

My stomach growls, reminding me of my original purpose, and I continue down the hall. I'm about to enter when I hear somebody ask in a deep voice,

"What are you thinking about, Dr. Kimishima?"

I freeze by the doorway and hold my breath. That's definitely Little Guy speaking, but I was not expecting them to still be here!

"Nothing…" Naomi replies in a barely audible whisper after a long pause of silence.

For as long as I can remember I have had a habit of eavesdropping. I assume it started because my first foster parents argued all the time that it was impossible not to hear everything they were saying. I know I can easily walk away, but my intuition tells me to stay.

"It is never nothing with you," Little Guy says casually and Naomi sighs.

"It's about Joshua," she admits in a dejected yet worried tone. My interest is completely piqued. How can I stop eavesdropping now?

"As in Cunningham or the drug dealer in the last case?" He clarifies.

"Cunningham, of course," she retorts in a rather exasperated tone. I imagine her rolling her eyes at this moment.

"Just checking," he defends himself. I hear the sound of a chair scrapping against the tiled floor and I picture Little Guy sitting across from Naomi at the kitchen table. "So what about him?" he persists in an inquisitive tone.

When Naomi speaks next it is in her slow, contemplative voice. One that she uses when her mind is reeling with thoughts and observations that nobody else can pick up on.

"I've been dreaming of the same event quite frequently now," she begins in a monotone voice. "At night I always return to the day when Lisa told me about the day Gabriel left her. I have been wondering for a while whether or not I should inform Joshua, but I think it could only hurt the bond between him and Gabriel."

"Joshua's been dying to know about what happened between his parents though," Little Guy adds in quickly.

"I am very aware of that, Little Guy," she sighs and pauses, which only leaves me in suspense. Naomi has a habit of being a little overly dramatic on, well, just about everything. I think it is because she was so close to death. It makes her feel like she must treat everything as incredibly important (not saying that this isn't).

"So…what happened?" Little Guy persists after a few seconds crawl by.

"One day I went to Joshua's house to pick Alyssa up," she starts her story, pausing between just about every sentence. "As usual, I went in to get her and I found Lisa in the kitchen. She was crying, but when she saw me she tried to smile and wiped away her tears. I asked her what was troubling her, and of course she denied that she had a problem. A second later, however, she confessed to me. I'm not sure why she chose me – she had many friends she could have talked with – but I suppose I was in the right place at the right time. She needed to talk and I was there."

"What did she say?" Little Guy urges.

"Calm down, Little Guy, I'm getting to that," she orders in a slightly irritated tone. He mutters an apology.

Sighing, she continues, "She began by telling me how much she had always wanted to be a mother. It was in her nature to be motherly, so Joshua was everything she could have wanted. I imagine it was this incredible love for her son that distracted her from sensing the tension between her and Gabriel. A year after Joshua's birth, she became pregnant again. She told him the news right before she went to work."

Odd…Joshua doesn't have any siblings.

A pause follows and I'm not sure why. The silence only adds to the suspense I feel as I wait for Naomi to continue. I expect Little Guy, being impatient as always, to press her for answers but he has learned his lesson.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and finishes quietly, "When she returned home later that day she had a gut feeling that something was wrong. She said she heard Joshua crying in the distance, so she naturally went to him first. Taped onto his crib was a note…. It was brief and with no concrete explanation for his leave. All of his things – clothes, money, and car – were gone. He left with just a note and a broken heart in his wake."

I have watched a family fall apart, but it was not as sudden as this. Such an event should not have occurred on a joyful occasion, too. It only adds to my suspicion that children can tear families apart.

I suddenly wish Lisa were here. She told the best jokes and treated me so well, but now all I want to do is hug her. It's not fair…none of it is fair.

"About a month later, Lisa had a miscarriage," Naomi breathes out in a sympathetic tone. "Her depression caused by Gabriel's sudden leave must have made her unhealthy, which probably caused the miscarriage. She then told me how grateful she was to have Joshua, and without him she probably would have been ruined after the bitter end with her husband. If she had told me that before I met Alyssa, I wouldn't have understood how a child could make one so incredibly happy. I do now."

My heart flutters at the mention of my name. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wait impatiently for Naomi to continue, but after silence ticks slowly by I realize that she won't elaborate anymore. She isn't the type to talk about herself, though it makes me think Joshua was right. Naomi does care about me.

Maybe that is why Joshua isn't bouncing in his seat to be adopted by Naomi. I think he just wants that strong connection between parent and child like he had with his mother. Perhaps he is worried that Naomi cannot give that to him, but I think she could. Gabe, on the other hand…. It will be harder to know if he feels that bond with his son.

They talk a bit more about how torn Naomi is about telling Joshua. Gabriel should be the one to tell him, but Joshua deserves to know. Soon, however, they are running late and are out the door in a minute. As I listen to their car roll away, I realize that I now also have the same problem Naomi has.

The house is still, like a storm has just passed through. My eyes feel heavy and I sit down in a chair to properly think. I could wait till Naomi decides what to do, but as Joshua's friend I should really tell him. He does deserve to know the whole truth after all.

I suppose it is a harder choice for Naomi, since she is also friends with Gabe. Naomi believes in confessing-when-you-are-ready, too, and probably thinks it is something Gabe needs to tell himself. But will he ever?

Chloe comes up from behind me and rubs her body against my leg. Kneeling beside her, I slowly stroke her sleek black fur. She looks up at me with her big gold eyes. Smiling, I remember when we first met. She made my days with that awful old lady bearable, and now she's here during another troubling time. Her mere presence comforts me.

"Oh, Chloe," I sigh. "What am I going to do?"

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

Happy Holidays everybody! Sorry for how long it takes me to update, as usual.

I needed to add some romance into this story. :3 I can't help it. I blame it for being female. From here on out the story is much more focused on Gabe and Collins and their relationship with Lisa. I know I kind of strayed away from this but I wanted to show how Lisa's death affects more than just Joshua living with Gabe, but his actions and relationships with others. The story Naomi told is going to be important next chapter.

Alyssa's backstory was completely borrowed from my fantastic beta-reader Tell-Her-This! As always I give a big thanks and urge you to read her story "Welcome Home" if you liked Alyssa's backstory or just want a good read. Also, thank you **ADarknessInHeaven, Indochine, magikid196, Canada Cowboy, Yaku-R, Tell Her This,** and **cheesetomacaroni **for your awesome, uplifting, and helpful review. I hope to hear from you and others again. :)

Thanks! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

~~Wave~~


	10. Burned Eggs and Coffee

_Author's Note_

_Longest chapter yet guys. Get pumped._

_I don't have much to say here other than thanks so much for all the great reviews you've been giving me. We're almost at the fifty mark, which is really good in this fandom due to the fandom's lack of popularity (which I don't understand. More people need to play TC). So, thank you so much **StarStarStar, ADarknessInHeaven, cheesetomacaroni, magikid196, Tell Her This, Canada Cowboy, **and **Indochine** for your reviews! HUGE thanks as usual to **Tell Her This** for helping me an extra ton with this chapter. I owe you big time._

_On a side note, the annoying thing about writing for TC is that I can't do a lot of pop culture references because this takes place in the future, so it wouldn't make sense. Darn you Atlus._

_Okay, anyway, to the story..._

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><p>Chapter Ten – Burned Eggs and Coffee<p>

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><p>The walk home from Alyssa's house seems much longer than it was last night. Today, however, I'm not fretting over getting mugged or becoming lost. There aren't any worms wiggling around in my shoes too, or at least so I think. Worms are alarmingly sneaky.<p>

By the time I return home I'm exhausted and famished, but I'm smiling. Even the awful smell of fire can't bring me down.

Wait…fire?

I sniff the air again. Yep, something is definitely burning. Following the bitter scent and the sound of a man's cursing, I cautiously enter the kitchen.

Messy has always been synonymous with the apartment, but now that word is an understatement. Chaos, disgusting, and horrendous combined would make the perfect word: dischaorendousing…or something.

A milk carton is tipped over on the counter and drips into a puddle that trickles to the floor. Empty cardboard boxes and pans of all different sizes are scattered along the grimy floor and countertop. A dozen taco shells that I bought the other day lie in pieces. Dirty dishes that are now turning green are stacked in the sink like a really lame art project.

"What…" I breathe but am unable to finish my sentence when I notice an egg yoke slowly falling off a ceiling lamp. Right below it is a blender that looks like somebody barfed in it.

My eye finally travels to the stove. Burnt pieces of food cover its grills like confetti gone wrong. Standing beside it is a tall man with an egg yoke in his unruly green hair.

"Where've you been?" Gabe snaps as he scrapes a blackened substance off of a frying pan and into a garbage can. His irritable frown and jerky movements make me hesitate.

"I was…walking," I answer cautiously.

"All night?" He persists as he tosses the ruined frying pan onto the stove.

Yeah…" I mumble uneasily. "I was…sleep walking."

He looks at me and cocks an eyebrow. Of course he doesn't buy it.

"Sleep walking. Right," he huffs. "And I guess that's explains why I got a phone call from Doctor Kimishima this morning."

Oh shit.

Playing it cool, I swallow the lump in my throat and casually ask, "Oh…what was that about?"

"She wanted to know where you were this morning," he answers while glaring at me like the catastrophe in the kitchen is my fault.

"And what did you say?" I inquire too quickly to be relaxed.

He takes a step forward and his foot lands in a puddle of milk. Rolling his eyes, he rubs his shoe against the ground to get the liquid off as he answers,

"I said you were here," he retorts. "Of all the places you could have "sleep walked" to, you chose the house with a woman who knows everything. Way to go."

My face heats up. At least he covered for me, but Doctor Kimishima probably does know I stayed over. Ah, shit.

Quickly changing the subject, I look around the room with disgust and ask, "So, did you get in a fight with the cookie monster or do you actually prefer to live in absolute filth?"

His mouth twists into a frown at the mention of his previous task. With unnecessary force, he picks up the turned over milk and snaps, "I was _trying _to make a decent meal! But _noooo_," he yells in frustration. "The stove decided light my food on fire."

"Stoves do have a tendency for doing that," I respond with amusement. "But I never knew they could get a yoke on the lamp."

We both glance up at it. He blanches.

"I'd rather not explain that one."

"What about the rotten tomatoes in the bread basket?" I ask while pointing to another displeasing scene.

He flinches like this is all painful to look at. "I…I really can't explain any of this."

A precarious stack of plastic plates suddenly tips over and clatters to the floor, seeming to have given up and died.

"During all this, did you ever consider simply giving up and going to the Dunkin Donuts down the street?" I ask incredulously.

Hanging his head, he flicks a piece of burned eggs off the stove and into the overflowing garbage can. In a dejected tone, he admits, "I got banned from there."

"What?" I gape. "How?"

"I got in a fight," he confesses reluctantly. "…over coffee."

I instantly burst out laughing and he grumbles something that I can't hear.

"Who gets in a fight at _Dunkin Donuts_?" I chuckle despite his threatening glare.

"Who uses sleep walking as an excuse?" he retorts.

Still laughing, I agree with mild respect, "Touché."

With his head held high, he grabs some paper towels and wipes at the spilled milk while accidentally stepping on some of my precious taco shells.

"Ugh, I'm starving!" he suddenly yells in agony and falls back on the floor. He lies in a heap with his back resting against the counter and his hand gripping his stomach. While he groans about food, the egg yoke in his hair becomes tangled in his giant green mass so that it disappears. I wonder what else he may be hiding in that hair of his.

"Same here," I agree in a much less fervent tone as my stomach grumbles.

"I don't suppose you can cook?" he muses in a desperate, hoarse voice.

"Actually, I can."

He glares at me and retorts, "No you can't."

I smirk.

"Just watch me."

He looks me with narrowed eyes from his spot on the floor as I prep the kitchen. Obtaining clean utensils in this mess is like walking across a minefield. Everything is placed precariously on something else and there are so many knives just lying around that I'm actually scared. Once I do find the necessary equipment I have to clean them so much that my fingertips become wrinkly.

Meanwhile, Gabe is cleaning the rest of the kitchen – or trying to at least. He might be even more atrocious at cleaning than with cooking. Instead of mopping he throws a bunch of paper towels on the ground and then shuffles on top of them like a child. This only spreads the milk around and leaves traces of ripped towels in his wake. I have to intervene and show him how to properly clean the floor with a mop. It's actually embarrassing knowing that he is this challenged when it comes to taking care of himself and his home. How has he survived all these years by himself?

By the time I finally get to cook the eggs I'm as hungry as Gabe (who has resorted to eating crumbs in a chip bag). I quickly whisk the eggs, milk, and a dash of salt together while he finishes stacking the dishes in the washer.

"What's that?" Gabe questions from behind me. He stares at the cooking utensil suspiciously; probably unaware he even possessed the item.

"A whisk," I reply slowly in a slightly abase tone.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm not stupid," he huffs and returns to the sink. Nevertheless, he still studies the object with his calculating eyes as he tries to determine the purpose of the item.

We work in silence for a few minutes, which is only broken by the constant clicking of my stirring and my frequent yawns. At one point both of our stomachs rumble at the same time and he chuckles; however, he doesn't speak up again until I'm frying the eggs.

"How are you doing that?" He asks, unable to hide his amazement.

"Doing what?" I wonder innocently and rub my tired eyes.

"Cooking," he states simply. Finally, he looks at me, blinks a few times, and says with awe, "You can cook."

I shrug and humbly reply, "Sometimes Mom wouldn't be around when I woke up so I made eggs. It is really easy."

Regaining his composure, Gabe clears his throat and stretches his arms. In a pathetic attempt for a lie, he mumbles, "Yeah…really easy."

"How'd you do it?"

"I…put the eggs on the frying pan and set the stove to high," he confesses sheepishly.

"Just eggs with nothing else?" I clarify.

He nods.

"Did you even take the shell off?" I inquire.

His shameful silence is all the answer I need.

Laughing as I grab a clean plate, I remark, "For the head of diagnostics, you are incredibly challenged."

"Shut up," he grumbles but his tone is light.

Keeping his head held high in a stubborn arrogance, he scrubs at the countertops. Halfway during this activity, he asks coolly, "So…can you tell me how to make eggs with a beaker?"

"What?" I ask, thinking I misheard him.

"You know…a beaker," he mumbles sheepishly.

Trying my best not to laugh, I keep my eyes focused on the frying pan so he can't see my smile.

"Yeah…no. No, that's…that's not a thing," I respond with pity and some confusion. Is he really _that_ bad at cooking?

"What do you mean _that's not a thing_?" he retorts.

"I mean you can't make scrambled eggs with a beaker," I shrug as I continue to stir the eggs around on the pan. "Don't tell me you tried it?"

"I'm not answering that question," he brushes it off but I can tell his pride is hurt from the way he leans against the counter with his eyes focused on his worn brown shoes.

"If it makes you feel any better, Doctor Kimishima can't cook to save her life," I offer with a smile. I'm not sure why I'm trying to boost Gabe's ego, but his goofy grin relaxes me.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Chuckling, he stares out the window and just says, "Wow."

The sudden realization that I'm actually enjoying cooking with Gabe is so startling that I almost knock over the pan of eggs. I'll admit that he can be fun to talk to when he isn't smoking or refusing to answer personal questions. If he weren't my dad then we could possibly have been friends, but when I see him I always think of my mother.

My famished stomach brings me back to what really matters: food. I'll forget all these family problems if I can just finish these eggs.

Anxious, I flip the eggs off the pan and onto a plate. I set in on the counter top and Gabe hands me a fork.

"Cheers to food," he grins while holding up his fork in the air.

"Cheers," I agree and we click our utensils in celebration.

With our empty stomachs controlling our movements, we attack the massive pile of scrambled eggs like my Jewish friend Billy when Yom Kippur has just ended.

"Holy shit," he blabbers through a mouthful of eggs. "_You_ made this?"

"No," I respond in a serious voice but my smile breaks through.

"Stop being such a wise ass," he sputters while taking another bite. Smiling and staring at the food affectionately, he says, "I don't think I've ever been more proud."

He says it casually with eggs dripping out of his mouth. It means nothing to him, but I freeze. Something within me kind of tingles. It's a weird feeling, not necessarily pleasant, like I'm torn between adamant anger and embarrassed cheerfulness.

Maybe I'm overreacting. Or not. Something to talk to my therapist about? Probably.

Puzzled by my silence, he stops eating and looks at me curiously. "What?" he asks stupidly.

"Nothing," I brush it off.

He studies me closely for a few seconds while I resume eating. For a second I think he'll interrogate me, but then his fork is hitting the plate again and we're stuffing our faces.

When we've completely cleared the plate, Gabe looks at the plate with mild disappointment.

"I'm still hungry," he admits gruffly.

"Same here," I agree.

"Want to go to Dunkin Donuts for me?"

"Sure, though now that I think about it we probably should have done that before," I muse.

"Yeah…" he concurs as he fishes out a twenty dollar bill from his back pocket. "I don't think much when I'm starving."

"So are you always starving then?"

He glares at me but I just grin.

"Your such a wise ass," he snickers. Thrusting the money forward, he orders, "Get me an everything bagel and some damn good coffee before I kill you."

I take the money with just a cheeky smile and rush out the door. The strange buzzing feeling of happiness lingers with me all the way to the store. Part of me doesn't like that I'm able to goof around with Gabe because I'm betraying my mom in that sense. I suppose stubbornness is holding me back from opening up to him, but I'm not just going to forget about all the crap he did because we can crack a few jokes now and then.

Then again, wouldn't my mother want me to get along with him?

No, she would want more than just _getting along_. She'd want honesty, protection, love, and any of those other corny family emotions.

For now, however, she'll just have to settle with this.

* * *

><p>Around two in the afternoon I head to a small café by the harbor. In its better days it resembled a well-decorated log cabin, but for a few years now the windows' glass has been missing, causing a horrible draft. Fuzzy plants now reside in the open window, making the cabin look like it is housing a massive foliage monster. Thankfully, the constant brewing of tea and coffee warms the store and the surplus of plants keeps pesky seagulls outside.<p>

No matter when I come it is always incredibly crowded with the line usually going out the door. All the people in here are either teenagers or college students, most of them dressed like hipsters with their boxy glasses and overly large sweaters. Never would I imagine Collins to invite me here but for some reason he did. Maybe it's a mid life crisis kind of thing?

Weaving through the line of people, I make my way to the back corner. It is quieter here behind a fence of exotic potted plants, but not by munch. Collins sits rigidly on a tall, rickety stool while his blue eyes passes over his surroundings with polite interest. His neat black suit and shortly cropped blond hair puts him at stark contrast with the restaurant's "woodsy" look (as in every wooden thing either looks like it has been sitting in the rain for a week or you will get fifty splinters by just touching it).

When he sees me he grins and greets over enthusiastically in a flood of words, "Ah, Joshua! It is so good to see you again. I hope everything has been well on your end. You do look better by the way – why, you look so much like your mother when you smile like that."

Sliding into the seat across from him and slightly uncomfortable by his incredibly cheery tone (which seems somewhat forced) I reply sheepishly, "Good to see you, too. How've you been?"

"Very well, Joshua," he hastens. "I must apologize for where I decided to meet you today. Lisa and I used to come here during my residence days, though I see now that things have changed quite dramatically," he says a bit distastefully while scanning the area with mild contempt. "That is to be suspected after sixteen years, I suppose. New management I presume?"

"Maybe," I shrug. "I don't come here often."

"Nevertheless, I got you some coffee since you seem so addicted to it as of late," he grins and slides a steaming mug of black liquid across the table. It's watered down but I'm just happy it isn't Tomoe's bubbling shit tea.

After taking a quick sip, Collins asks courteously, "So, how was your weekend?"

I instantly remember Friday night and smile. Since I plan to keep those events private I have to struggle to think of a satisfying response.

"It was…nice. I got a therapist and I'll be swimming again soon. I'll be trying to get my grades back up, too," I hurry, current events spilling out of me like a dumb history report.

"A therapist?" Collins echoes with interest and a hint of shock. "That is very mature of you to reach for help when you know you are in need of it."

"Well, I didn't actually want a therapist. Gabe made me get one," I clarify, unable to take the credit due to my stubbornly good morals.

"Gabe?" He muses while stirring his tea with a silver spoon that he must have brought himself. "Well, that might be the first sensible act in his life. However, I do know some fantastic therapists who you will like much better than whoever he suggested. I am a man with many beneficial connections."

"Actually, Gabe has good connections too," I add casually. "He was roommates in medical school with Doctor Stiles. You know, the guy that beat GUILT."

"Impossible," Collins chuckles. "Doctor Stiles is too professional to have been so close with Gabe. He likely surrounds himself with the best of the best."

"Well, Gabe _did_ help defeat the Rosalia virus," I interject.

He freezes and peers at me with curious, dark cobalt eyes. His smile has fallen into a subtle, distasteful frown. His expression is sympathetic, like I'm a little boy being lied to, and just the thought makes me nervous. I can't have any more dishonesty in my life, especially from Gabe. He's maxed out on his dishonesty points…which have just become a thing starting five seconds ago.

Slowly, he sips his tea and places it back on the table. I expect him to correct me with his pedantic tone, but when he speaks it is in a much softer, less pleasant tone. He smiles again but the friendliness doesn't reach his eyes.

"So, you and Gabe have become quite close," he comments, almost in an upbraiding way.

"N-no…" I start but then realize that, strangely, I've been defending him these past few minutes. The feeling of betrayal I experienced before when I was getting along with Gabe has slunk its way back to the front of my mind. I say reassuringly, "I still don't trust him."

He nods, like he always does, and sips his drink gingerly. Once he places it down on the table, he looks at me with a very intense gaze.

"Joshua, I want you to know that I am always here for you if you ever need me," he says seriously. "You just say the word and I'm there."

I'm not sure where this sudden serious protective pep talk came from. Was it because I was defending Gabe? I hope he doesn't think I like Gabe more than him.

The more important question is _why_ would I defend Gabe. I blame it on my need to be honest and face all the facts…but that sounds like a shitty excuse. Ugh, emotions are so confusing.

He then calls a waitress over as if nothing happened. Before I can ponder on his sudden grave manner anymore, I recognize the waitress to be Ruth Fen. Her black attire and red knit cap are unmistakable.

While Collins places his order her stormy gray eyes are fixed on me. The smirk on her red lips annoys me along with her general presence. All I can think of is her disgusting breath when she was kissing me at that party, something I plan on removing from my memory. I still don't know what she said to Alyssa but I'll let that one drop, though now the only word that comes to mind when I see her is _bitch_.

"Would you like some more coffee?" she asks me with such fake joy that I'd rather her insult me to my face. Besides, I barely drank any of it.

"No thanks," I grumble in my best attempt at being polite. Now I remember why I don't come here often.

"You sure?" she insists teasingly as she inches closer to me. "I know how thirsty you can be. You'll probably finish this one off in no time."

"Nope, I'm fine," I retort tensely.

She saunters off but keeps looking at me over her shoulder with her smirk still gracing her pale face. I don't know if she wants to pick a fight or meet me in a storage closet, but I'm done talking with her. I just roll my eyes and focus on Collins.

"You know her?" He clarifies.

"Unfortunately," I grumble. "Don't tip her."

"Why?"

"She's worse than Gabe."

Smiling again, he responds cheerfully, "Good enough reason for me."

* * *

><p>On Monday I'm feeling in a much better mood than I have been for a while. I actually did my homework, which causes <em>most<em> of my teachers to be unusually joyful like I did it just for them. Miss. Piercing isn't excited though. She doesn't feel emotions. I don't think she's real.

Although I don't want to hang out with Justin anymore, I try to apologize to him for what happened at the party. During lunch I find him lying on his side in the back stairwell (or better known as the sex stairwell). A strong bittersweet smell lingers around him like a cloud. He stares blankly at the wall with his dull brown eyes glazed and puffy. It takes him a moment to register that I'm standing in front of him, but when he finally notices me he smiles weakly and breathes in a raspy voice,

"Hey…green."

He chuckles and his eyes roll around.

Knowing he's incredibly stoned right now, I speak like I'm explaining something to a toddler but it is useless. When I mention Ruth and how I never liked her, he just closes his eyes and smiles, probably unable to understand what I'm saying. I try again but he asks innocently,

"Who are you?"

Sighing, I reply dryly, "Queen Latifah."

He nods stupidly as I walk away from him. Maybe if I'm lucky he'll remember my apology…okay, that is highly unlikely. Whatever, I tried.

On my way back to the cafeteria I see Ruth standing by a row of lockers. Her gray eyes are fixed on a worn leather journal in her hands as she scribbles something down in it, probably her latest "wonderful" piece of poetry.

I try to walk silently past her so as not to draw attention, but being a clumsy oaf I accidentally trip and curse under my breath. She snaps her eyes to me and a smirk instantly spreads across her face.

"Who were you with last Saturday?" She snickers. "You new boyfriend?"

I consider calling her out on sleeping with a teacher in a pathetic attempt for a come back, but I know my mother would scold me for such actions. As much as I'd like to, I can hear her warm voice urging me to do what I know is right. She'd tell me her little words of wisdom with her hand on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and then return to cooking another random recipe.

Instead of succumbing to her level, I roll my eyes and march away.

All thoughts of Ruth and Justin fade to the back of my mind once I finally attend swim practice. I had forgotten how much I had enjoyed swimming – the way the water makes me feel light and powerful as I cut through the surface with my long arms. Noise becomes a distorted blur, like there is no such thing as an outside world. In the pool it's just empty space and me.

When practice is over the team disperses and I'm left alone as I walk outside. The setting sun paints the dulling blue sky with streaks of orange, reds, and purples. Lobster boats cruise gracefully into the nearby harbor with squawking seagulls in their wake. The streets are fairly quiet in this part of town but, like any city, there is a distant hum of motors and electricity.

I'm about to make my way to the bus station when I see a girl sitting on the main staircase. Her chin is resting on top of her knees as she stares into space, apparently deep in thought. The sun set makes her russet air glow with streaks of golds and reds. A white blouse hangs loosely along her thin shoulders and her tight jeans hug her legs in an attractive fashion.

Seeing her makes my heart do a weird flip-flop maneuver. Smiling, I sit down beside her.

"Hey, Alyssa," I greet calmly, glad that I didn't do something embarrassing like have a voice crack or fall down the stairs.

My voice snaps her out of her trance and she looks at me with surprise. Her pink lips then stretch into a smile while she responds cheerfully, "Hey, how was swim practice?"

"Refreshing," I answer. "What are you still doing here?"

"I had to work on a project and then I decided I'd wait for you," she admits and blushes, making her look adorable.

A silence forms between us. It's sort of awkward, at least for me, because I keep thinking of stealing that kiss from her Saturday morning. Now I'm not sure how I should act. Do I even know how to be romantic?

Shuffling my feet against the steps, I break the silence with the first thing that comes to my head.

"You look nice," I say bluntly in a sharp tone.

Puzzled, she tips her head to the side and we stare at each other for a brief moment. My face heats up but she suddenly bursts out laughing. The familiar sound of it relaxes me, reminding me that Alyssa is the same person she was three days ago.

"I mean, for a girl," I add teasingly.

"What are you, five?" she retorts.

"Probably," I shrug and she rolls her eyes playfully.

It is as if some weird barrier was broken between us and we revert to our old, comfortable ways. We chat over silly things in our life to pass the time. I tell her about Gabe's inability to cook, which reminds her of Doctor Kimishima's inability to cook, and we plan on hosting an intervention of sorts so we can stop cooking for them. She mentions something about the Spanish classroom screaming during her literature test. I explain my interaction with Justin and Ruth. She recalls hearing about somebody getting suspended today for drugs, and we go back and forth like that for a while. Sometime during this I realize that I honesty don't care what we talk about, just as long she is there with me. She's comforting and joyful, like the water blocking out all the other annoying things in life.

At some point I mention Collins and her lips twitch downward at the mention of his name. She has never spoken to him but she doesn't trust him for reasons unknown.

"How was he?" She asks out of courteousness rather than genuine interest.

"Fine, I guess," I shrug. "I think I know why I like talking with him."

"Why?" she asks while looking at me curiously.

"He is the one of the few people who have been honest with me," I admit with slight dejection in my tone. "Gabe won't tell me anything, my Mom failed to inform me on some key details, and even Naomi never mentioned that she knew who my dad was. I feel like the only people I can trust are you and Collins."

Surprisingly, her mouth dips into a small frown and she looks to the ground shamefully. A cool breeze gently brushes some strands of her hair across her face as she turns disturbingly quiet.

"Then there is something I should tell you," she sighs. Before saying anymore, she pauses and looks at me as if wondering if I should really know this information. Her conflicted gaze unnerves me.

Seeming to have made up her mind, her shoulders relax and she mumbles in a defeated tone, "After you left Saturday morning, I overheard Naomi and Little Guy talking."

Glancing towards the street, she hesitates again and bites her lip. She's so focused on her own thoughts that she doesn't notice two freshmen boys sprint past us on the stairs. Their clamorous movements only agitate me more, making me feel like they'll disturb the serene graveness that has taken over Alyssa and I'll never hear what she has to say.

I glare at them while they jump into their mom's mini van and drive away, silently jealous the kids have a mom.

My stare is broken when Alyssa grabs my hand. Looking at me again with her solemn gaze, she says sternly, "Joshua, I'm telling you this because you deserve to know…. Just, remember to think before you act, okay?"

Wary now, I respond nervously, "Okay."

Barely reassured by my answer, she takes a deep breath and explains everything she heard from Naomi: my mother crying, her pregnancy, the fights, the note…. At first I listen to her words intently, trying to absorb it all like that'll improve my life, but there comes a point where I seem to block out the rest.

Numbness. Why is it that I always feel numbness? In the back of my mind I know I should be furious right now, but a hole has opened up inside of me and all emotions seem to fall right into that nothingness.

Her grip on my hand is rather tight, as if keeping me from hunting Gabe, but I won't be doing anything rash. At least not yet.

"Joshua?" Alyssa whispers as she squeezes my hand. "Joshua, say something."

But I can't speak. I'm so overwhelmed with emotions of confusion, loathing, and misery that I feel like I'm losing control of my limbs. With languid movements, I stand up and begin to walk away.

"Wait!" Alyssa calls out with a hint of fear. "Where are you going?"

Turning around, I see her standing a few feet away from me. Her hands are clenched together and her posture is rigid aside from the breeze that ruffles her white blouse.

"I…I need to take a walk," I mumble.

"Do you want me to go with you?" she offers eagerly with worry thick in her sweet voice.

"Do you have a ride home?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Then go and I'll see you later," I decide.

I'm about to turn around and walk away again but seeing her staring at me with such kindness and genuine concern makes me hesitate. I feel a twinge of guilt leaving her behind when she is so keen on helping me, especially since I already messed up once by pushing her away. My numbness prevents me on feeling anything more, however, so with a nod of my head I turn around and walk away.

My body acts on its own accord and takes me through all the steps to get home: hop on a shuttle, show my pass, sit in the corner away from people, and get off a block from my apartment. The numbness gradually fades as my thoughts turn bewildered and angry. I can imagine my mom's heartbreak when Gabe ditched her, and then how bitterly sorrowful she must have felt when the miscarriage happened. It is also strange to think that I once had a sibling. A sibling that Gabe indirectly killed.

Did my mother blame the death of her second baby on him? How did she recover from such depression? Most importantly, why did Gabe leave?

Somewhere during this I have decided that it is time Gabe comes clean about everything. I need to hear the full story.

When I finally enter the apartment Gabe is sitting on the couch watching a news story. He casually greets me without turning around. Feeling strangely powerful, I march to the television and click it off.

"Okay, so I guess I won't know how they saved the drowning boy," Gabe grumbles but there isn't any bitterness in his tone, only caution as he studies me closely.

I feel rigid and trapped, like all of my jumbled emotions and thoughts are ready to burst out of me. My movements are stiff as I cross my arms and stand up straight as possible. Looking down at him, I demand with alarming strength,

"Tell me about the day you left my mom."

He rolls his eyes and leans deeper into the torn up leather couch. In an exhausted voice, he sighs, "Not this again…"

"Tell me," I insist darkly.

"Look, I don't feel like talking about it –"

"She was pregnant, wasn't she?" I interrupt with a bitter tongue. "She was pregnant and you ran away like a child."

Silence.

His hand moves over his mouth and his ochre eyes darken, giving him a pensive expression. I can only hear my beating heart as he ponders over whatever shit goes on in his mind.

He then moves like a wounded animal. Not only does his unruly green hair and stubble give him the appearance of one, but his tense movements add to the impression too. With his eyes locked on me, he eases himself off the couch and stands a good distance away from me. He takes small, soundless steps to the side.

Apprehensive, he whispers, "So you know. What more do you need?"

"I need to hear you say it," I order in a quiet yet strong tone. Fury is bubbling inside of me and I grip onto my arms to contain myself. I move with his footsteps, keeping him trapped between the couch and the coffee table.

"Yes, Lisa was pregnant again," he confesses in a slightly constricted voice.

"And?" I persist.

His mouth pulls into a deep frown and his amber eyes suddenly obtain a dangerous flicker to them.

"And I left her, okay?" he snaps. "While she was at work I took my things and bolted. Happy now?"

He takes a step towards his room but I jump in front of him.

"Why?" I demand. "Why did you run away?"

"I'm not here to play twenty questions," he grumbles and tries to walk past me again.

"All I want from you is an explanation!" I suddenly yell. My muscles shake and my heart beats uncomfortably fast. The room seems to become ten degrees hotter and I feel sweat forming on the back of my neck. Desperation takes control as I shout, "You've never given me anything in my life, so the least you can do is tell me why!"

I must have struck a nerve because he pauses and doesn't try to escape. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. His eyes become cloudy while he shuffles backwards until his legs hit the couch. For a moment I think he'll sit down, but he remains standing as if the couch will force him to confess all his private thoughts.

He stares at me in a way that makes me think he's actually seeing me for the first time. I can feel his eyes traveling over every inch of my body. His unfaltering gaze seems to dissect me until he reaches the basis of my being, whatever that may be. Maybe he finally realizes he has a son that he needs to be honest with, or maybe he sees me as something that belongs only to my mother.

It seems like forever until he's finally done with his analysis. Releasing a shaky breath, his shoulders shag and he averts his gaze to the ground like whatever he saw in me has changed nothing. Finally, he admits in a weary, strained voice,

"It was just…everything shitty happened. I got back from the war and there you both were, happy as ever. It felt unreal, like I was in a dream and I'd wake up any moment back in my bunk in Costigar…." He runs a hand through his hair and clamps his mouth, realizing that he's revealed too much. Closing his eyes for moment longer than a blink, he mumbles wearily, "Shit happened, let's just leave it at that."

He glances at me, probably debating on his chances of escape, but he knows that I am the stronger one, mainly because of my youth. While physically fighting isn't anything I want, something about me must make him think that it is certainly possible if he pisses me off just enough.

Defeated, he falls back to the couch runs a hand through his disheveled hair again. With shaking finger, he pulls out a tarnished silver lighter.

"We fought. A lot," he admits almost nonchalantly as he toys with the lighter. His thumb flicks across its side but he is still unable to get it to ignite. In a more frustrated tone, he grumbles, "It was always over crap that neither of us had ever cared about before. Mostly it was my fault; I'd stay out all night and left her to take care of you. Somehow she had hope that I'd get better, like my behavior was just a passing cold, but time wore on and nothing changed. And when she finally announced she was pregnant again I couldn't take it. I didn't want to go through the process again."

He pulls out a cigarette and finally lights it. The butt glistens with a contained flame as smoke steadily curls from it. Putting it to his lips, he inhales deeply. His facial muscles relax and his eyes become slightly watery.

I wait for him to elaborate, but after a time I understand that he's done.

"So…that's just it," I whisper almost breathlessly. Strangely, I feel empty and incomplete. I didn't want to hear a story about how they just seemed to stop loving each other and how my presence finally ripped them apart. That is all too…simple.

I guess part of me still yearned for a reason that justified his leaving. He could have said he was sucked into a black hole and I probably would have believed it.

He takes another drag of his cigarette. His entire countenance relaxes as he watches the smoke form patterns in the air. Looking at him, all I can think is _casual_. He's so damn casual, smoking and sitting on the couch. I want him to be crying or furious or…something!

Suddenly enraged, I march forward and snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. I throw it on the ground and stomp on it.

"What the hell?" He snaps but I keep up my I-don't-give-a-shit face. "Those are expensive!"

"So is raising a child but I guess you didn't know that because you ran away!" I retort hotly. My blood feels like fire and my head is throbbing because of it. This apartment seems tiny now, crushing me with its powerful stench and surplus of ratty furniture.

He stands up abruptly. With his teeth clenched, he growls darkly, "You don't know what I've been through."

"Maybe I don't fully understand what went down in Costigar," I admit in a rush of frustration. "But that doesn't justify you abandoning your family! Soldiers are supposed to be brave and selfless, and yet you ran away like a pathetic coward –"

"I'm not a coward," he interjects bitterly.

"Yes you are!" I shout over him, so desperate to get all my pent up emotions across that I begin to lose control of my words. "Y-you had a wife who loved you! W-who left another man for you! And then you were scared to be a father – which I guess can be terrifying, I don't know, maybe – but instead of facing it bravely you just ran away! Y-you didn't even have the d-decency to tell her that your abandonment wasn't her fault! Do you know how often she wondered what she did that caused you to leave?"

"It _wasn't_ entirely my fault!" he cuts me off sharply with his eyes narrowed and his hands in tight fists.

"It was completely your fault!"

"She was the one who got pregnant!"

"Oh, and I suppose you had nothing to do with that?" I retort sarcastically.

"I told her I didn't want children but she purposely went off birth control without telling me!" he shouts in a stream of infuriated words. "I never wanted you!"

He freezes then with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with shock, like he might be able to reverse time if he stays frozen in that position, but it's too late.

I hate how much those words sting, how much they make me feel so incredibly inferior that I have the pathetic urge to curl up on the floor. My body seems to deflate, the air leaving my lungs, and I stumble backwards like he has just hit me.

Maybe, after all this time, I wanted to be accepted. I always told myself that I didn't need him, but even then I knew how satisfying it would be to finally be loved by my own father. This must be how Alyssa felt at her foster homes – unwanted, unloved, and seen only as a burden.

Rejected and embarrassed by my own childish need for a parent, I turn around and make my way to my room. My eyelids grow heavy as my throat constricts. I can feel the tears forming, only adding to my shame. Spinning around, I look at him one last time. His gaze is empty and his ochre irises are dead like a wilted flower.

He's the one who has been abandoned. From his ratty clothes, nicotine addiction, bitter sarcasm, and an inconsistency for proper hygiene, I see that he has abandoned everybody, including himself.

"Joshua…" he breathes in a raspy voice. For a moment I think he is going to apologize, but he remains rooted to where he stands, unable to say anymore.

I open my mouth to say something – anything really – but only a choking sound comes out. In a mix of fury and self-pity, I rush into my room and slam the door. A sudden vertigo causes me to collapse on the bed with my head in my hands. I grab my hair in tightly clenched fists and release a strangled sob. My body shakes and the only words I am amble to think right now are _shit_ and _fuck_.

Shit. Shit shit fuck shit. Fucking shit fuck.

Somehow through my blurry vision I see a small piece of paper poking out from under my worn sneakers. Sliding my foot back, I barely read the tiny print and quickly realize it's the business card Collins gave me when I first met him.

My mind flashes back to a few days ago. He said he will always be there for me, unlike a certain disgraceful man who wants nothing to do with his son.

And suddenly I can't stand being here anymore. I hate my small, cramped room. I hate my sagging bed and the dresser that is missing a drawer. I hate the sound of traffic from down below. I hate Gabe. I hate Gabe so damn much. Most of all I hate that dumb old blue fish with his one orange eye and tattered fins. I hate how he reminds me of myself.

With jerky, uncontrollable movements, I snatch the stuffed animal off the ground, thrust the window open, and throw the fish out the window with a furious grunt.

"Joshua?" Gabe calls unsteadily from the other side of the door. He tries to open it but it won't budge.

Flipping my cell phone open, I dial in the number with shaking fingers. He answers instantly. I ask him to meet me and he says he'll come. No explanation needed.

Gabe continues to pound on the door and demands that I come out and speak to him. I don't respond. Instead, I scramble around the room stuffing clothes, books, and anything I can carry into my yellow duffel bag. Tears blur my vision but I continue to pack until it is filled to the brim with objects that I know I need even though they all seem worthless to me right now.

Hoisting the duffel on to my shoulder, I storm out of my room feeling like I'm going to throw up. Gabe, who had been banging noisily on my door throughout all this, falls backwards when I shove the door open.

"Joshua?" He gasps as I rush to the exit. Grabbing my arm, he asks desperately, "Where are you going?"

"Don't touch me!" I shout in an overpowering, heartbroken yell.

"Let me explain," he rushes.

"Haven't you said enough?" I sputter before he can say another word. My body trembles from the hurt, making me feel shamefully childish again. "What else can you possibly have to say to – to…?"

My voice fails me then as a tear falls down my burning face. He simply stares at me with helplessness and his mouth hangs open just a bit in a strange mix of shock and horror.

"I-I'm so sorry…" he stutters in a barely audible whisper.

Shaking my head, I step away from him. The duffle drags on my body, almost forcing me to stay in this hellhole, but I stumble to the door. His mouth opens but I don't want to hear what he has to say.

"Fuck you," I growl.

Blood rushes to my head as I slam the door and march down the hallway. The elevator is still broken so I stagger down the stairs, falling twice because of my over weight duffle bag. I act in furious movements similar to an enraged child. I'm so out of control that it even scares me.

The outside air is unseasonably warm and heats my burning face. Shoving past people on the street, I walk in a random direction. I knock somebody over with my bag and almost cause a traffic accident by crossing in the middle of a green light. Somebody honks. I flip them off.

I don't stop until a sleek black car rolls up along the curb. The window slips down, revealing Collins. Even now he looks professional and his blond hair is perfect combed, his face perfectly shaped, and his teeth perfectly whitened.

He looks at me with pity.

We don't speak as I throw my bag in the trunk and sink into the passenger seat.

"What happened?" he inquires gently.

Dark shadows hide most of his face while a dull red glow from the dashboard warms the contours of his skull. His black eyes blend with the night so that I can only see his thin lips.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he urges in a whisper.

Another tear slides down my face, reminding me that I'll sound like a girl if I try to speak. In a weak attempt to retain some dignity, I simply shake my head.

He places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a comforting squeeze.

"He did not hit you, did he?" He asks cautiously, possibly scared of the answer.

I shake my head again.

He sighs and leans back in his seat. I can only see his silhouette now as the car slowly crawls forward and into the street.

"You were right to call me, Joshua," Collins says in a strange mix of sympathy and exhaustion. "You belong with me. I'm only sorry you had to realize this the way you did."

"Please, just take me home."

And we drive away. Not to Gabe's apartment or to the house where I used to live. Not even to the Kimishimas.

We drive to his house. My new home.

It takes a little less than an hour to get to wherever he lives. The night and my dull mind makes the streets unrecognizable, and eventually we're traveling through dense woods along the coastline. A full, porcelain moon illuminates the clear sky and reflects off the choppy sea. Now more than ever do I want to go swimming.

I don't realize the road surrounded by blooming flower bushes and iron gates is a driveway until we approach a massive stone house with spires that fade into the night, and then I don't think that this extravagant building can possibly be somebody's home. It's at least five stories tall and has over fifty windows on the front face alone. A thin curtain of mist surrounds it, making it seem ghostly.

The car crosses a small wooden bridge that brings us over a picturesque stream and to a circle of gravel. We stop in front of two elaborately carved redwood doors. From the shadows a man in a black suit emerges and opens my door.

Confused and nervous, I carefully exit the car. Instantly I smell the salt from the sea. It's so fresh and clean, something that would never be found in Gabe's apartment.

Staring at all the windows, I assume Collins has taken me to a really fancy orphanage, but then he puts his hand on my shoulder and proudly states,

"Welcome to your new home."


	11. Coward

Chapter Eleven – Coward

* * *

><p>When I wake I feel like I've been drugged. That's how good the bed feels. Nothing compares to an extravagant gold downy comforter that warms my cold body and too many velvet-trimmed pillows surrounding me like a fluffy bulwark. Pure, radiant sunlight seeps through the massive windows, all of which are bordered by regal crimson drapes with golden tassels. Outside, a cherry tree stirs in the breeze as two robins fly by singing a merry tune.<p>

…Where the hell am I?

Though it takes an extraordinary amount of effort, I push myself up and observe my surroundings. The bedroom is larger than Gabe's entire apartment and smells of the sea. The marble floor is so clean that it sparkles and reflects the elegant velvet chairs and glossy wooden desk and dresser. There are a multitude of lamps, paintings of French gardens, and scented candles scattered throughout the room. A fireplace is tucked away in the corner beside a massive bookshelf. _Two_ golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling, which is painted in a way that makes it look like I'm staring up at an endless blue sky.

I think I just stepped into some British period drama.

With a deep sigh, I fall back onto the bed. My arms lay limp beside me with my palms facing up as I stare at the fake sky. A mix of sleepiness and emptiness begins to invade my mind. My body is slipping into coma mode just as the memories from last night are slowly resurfacing. I force myself to stay awake in order to remember everything, but once I have I wish I could forget it all.

_I never wanted you_.

I lie perfectly still and try to think of anything else, but those words always come back. They are so clear that I can hear the bitterness in his gruff voice and I can smell the cigarette smoke. The rest of the night is a blur of rage and sorrow, but those words always stick out in my mind.

I want to hate him. I want to be able to release all my frustrations by punching walls or swimming or something, but any loathing I feel is dulled by an intense emptiness. It's almost like I'm in a slump again, but I'm still able to think without swearing every five seconds so I guess that's improvement.

Despite my endeavors to be sucked into an endless sleep, my body has awakened with groans and demands that I can't ignore. My stomach growls, my teeth feel disgusting when I run my tongue over them, and my hair clings to my perspiring face. The bed sheets have grown too hot while the morning sun rises higher in the sky and I'm no longer comfortable lying on my back.

With a groan, I force myself out of bed. The marble ground is cool on my bare feet as I stumble to the bathroom. My pajamas swish with my movements and rub against my skin in the strangest way. They feel as gentle as a caress. As I study the clothes, I run my hand over the downy, delicate fabric.

"Red silk pajamas?" I ask myself in an incredulous tone. While they might be ridiculous and over the top, I can't deny that they are comfortable. Still, who buys _red silk pajamas_?

The private bathroom is, of course, enormous and full of more hair care products than a Macy's. All the handles and rods are sparkling gold and the towels are fluffy like clouds. The showerhead is large and attached to the ceiling, making the water cascade around me like a waterfall. Best of all, the toilet seat is heated. _Heated_. Maybe it's totally weird, but if I ever become this fabulously wealthy the first useless thing I am buying is a heated toilet seat. It makes taking a dump so much better.

It's fucking _heated_.

After spending way too much time playing with all the random objects that I never knew existed, my stomach growls again. I abandon the bathroom and dress in some normal clothes – jeans and a button down shirt (a t-shirt seemed too casual). Finally, I enter the main hallway. While I amble in a random direction, I watch the ornate rug's pattern change with each step. The intricate designs swirl and combine with other swirls, forming a thick white snake with red eyes. It's not the prettiest carpet but it is probably made of really expensive fabrics that I don't know of.

Elegant lights hang from the ceiling and paintings of Italian landscapes rest on the crimson walls, all in regular intervals. This pattern is only separated by the occasional door, which I assume leads to more massive guestrooms, indoor pools, or bowling alleys.

I wasn't aware of the heavy silence until I hear the distant sound of a voice. Cautious, I silently walk towards the noise and quickly locate the source from behind one of the many doors.

"…quarreled about Lisa most likely," the voice says from inside the room.

While most would say fight or argued, he uses quarreled. Obviously this must be Collins.

For a second I debate on knocking but the idea disappears completely when I hear the following words,

"I am trying my best, Mister Billington."

Billington…. That was my mom's maiden name.

I'm sure tons of people have that name, though I can't help but wonder if Collins might be talking with one of my relatives. That would be odd, though, since I've never met any of my extended family and yet Collins has?

Screw morals, I'm eavesdropping.

"He came over last night…" Collins says casually, and I assume he's speaking over the phone since I can't hear Billington's voice. "Yes, he is still resting. I can assure you he's safe…. Indeed, he looks exactly like Lisa…. Curly brown hair, beautiful chocolate brown eyes, and of course her athleticism. He is definitely your daughter's son."

Am I hearing correctly or did Collins just describe me as everything that I'm not? And why?

"It shouldn't be long until then…" Collins continues in his relaxed, slightly weary tone, as if he is tired of talking to this man. "I wouldn't say _instantly_, but I do believe adoption will happen rather soon. He will finally be your grandson."

WTF? Shit, I just spoke (or rather thought) bimbo language. Whatever. Those three letters are the epitome of my feelings right now.

Instinctively I glance over my shoulder and see a woman standing a few yards away. I lean into the door and continue listening. Wait…double take.

Oh.

My mouth becomes dry as I stare at the Chinese woman. Her dull blue dress ends just above her ankles, revealing her torn shoes, and her black hair is pulled back into a messy bun. In her small hands is a plastic hamper full of khaki pants and dress shirts.

"G-good morning," I whisper sheepishly but she just stares with scolding black eyes that seem to say _dumb kid_.

We stare at each other for a brief moment, her gaze emotionless and mine full of shame, before she soundlessly turns around and begins to walk down the corridor. Reluctant, I trudge after her as embarrassment makes my face red.

I follow her down a staircase (which is covered in a red rug, like the ones in a castle) and into the kitchen. It is smaller than I expected but the marble countertops and abundant appliances are as sparkly as the rest of the house. Unlike Gabe's trashy apartment, there are no egg yokes on the ceiling or spilled milk cartons. No taco shells litter the smooth wooden floor. There aren't any dirty dishes either. Actually I can't even tell where the dishwasher is. It's like the dishes clean themselves, or maybe they just never get dirty?

The Chinese woman brings a plate from the fridge and places it on the counter in front of me. For a moment she simply stares at me with her commanding eyes before she turns away and leaves through another door.

Okay…so she's not a social butterfly.

Shrugging it off and hoping she won't report me to Collins, I sit down on the leather stool and look at my food.

Scrambled eggs. Of course.

I had briefly forgotten the reason behind my melancholy, and now I'm remembering the rare time I had enjoyed being with Gabe like some sappy chick flick.

I force myself to think of the conversation I just overheard while I eat in order to distract myself from thinking of last night's fight. The eggs are amazing, better than mine, but they don't give me the usual excitement that I get from food. I eat slowly until they are all gone, and then I sit in a heavy silence, lost among glamorous and unnecessary objects.

I rub my weary eyes and, unable to fight it any longer, the memories from last night crash into me.

_I never wanted you I never wanted you I never wanted you I never wanted you I –_

I hold my head in my hands and stare at the marble counter. The words continue to speak inside my mind, but I struggle to look past it now, to focus on something else. I remember throwing Fishy out the window, and telling Gabe to fuck off…and then my thoughts jump to something else he said.

_I told her I didn't want children but she purposely went off birth control without telling me!_

At the time I was too furious to give a second thought about this statement, but now I'm so damn confused. Gabe _had_ to be lying. My mother would never do such a thing, especially if Gabe had said he didn't want kids. It just doesn't make sense. She wouldn't do that.

She wouldn't fucking do that!

But what if she did? Did she really want children so badly that she lied to him? Twice?

No. No way. Gabe's a complete liar.

Thankfully, a melodic _ding_ from my pocket interrupts my thoughts. I pull out my cell phone and find I have twenty-two missed calls, ten text messages, and five voice mails.

Holy shit.

I scroll through the missed calls, most of which are from Gabe, and a few are from Alyssa, two from Naomi, and one from Luke, an acquaintance-ish friend. There's also one from some debt collector in Oregon who thinks I'm Denise Dorwin, but that's not important.

Running a hand through my hair, I go to the text messages.

_Gabe: Joshua, answer the phone._

_Gabe: Answer. The. Phone._

_Gabe: ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE_

_Gabe: Please just answer. Or text me back._

_Gabe: I said please._

_Gabe: Call me._

_Alyssa: Gabe called Naomi. He's freaking out. What happened?_

_Alyssa: Are you skipping school today?_

_Luke: yo im so jealous u are out right now Piercing just gave us a pop quiz and her muffin top is showing._

_Alyssa: Call me please. I hope you're doing well._

Does anybody know where I am right now? Did Collins tell anybody? Now I feel guilty for making Alyssa, Naomi, and possibly others worry. Except for Gabe. I don't give a shit as to what he feels, and I am definitely not calling him.

Though I'm not in the mood to talk, I speed dial Alyssa's number. The phone rings and rings but she doesn't answer. Glancing at the golden wall clock, I see that it is only 2:05. School must just be getting out and she probably can't hear anything.

Wait…2:05? Sometimes I surprise myself with how long I can sleep.

Her voice message comes up, and at the beep I still don't know what to say. For a moment I just sit there, hoping that her voice will come to soothe me. I'd sneak to her house again, but I have no idea where I am and the walk is probably way too long for me to handle.

Finally, I accept that she won't answer me. In a hushed, tired voice I say slowly, "Hey, Alyssa. It's me. I'm sorry I didn't call you back sooner…. I was sleeping."

I mumble the last part with embarrassment, but then I clear my throat and continue a bit stronger, "I'm fine, so don't worry about me. I'm at Collins' house and I'll probably be back at school tomorrow so…"

Sighing, I simply whisper into the phone, "Call me as soon as you can" and hang up.

* * *

><p>An hour or so later, Collins finds me reading one of his medical books on a couch with too many pillows to be legal. I'm grateful that he has finally come down to greet me, because while the <em>Ever Evolving World of Tumors<em> may sound exciting, the foreign terms are giving me a headache.

Collins walks in with a gleaming smile as the sunlight makes his hair shimmer like gold. It's the most casual I've seen him in just a button down shirt and khakis compared to his usual suit and silk ties. His casual is my formal.

"Ah, Joshua," he greets with an airy, jovial tone as he smiles. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead," I reply.

He sits down beside me with his perfect posture, making me aware of my own. I bring my feet off of the coffee table and sit up straighter but the surplus of pillows seem to be trying to kick me off.

"Sorry I did not present myself earlier," he adds while I squirm next to him. "I went to work this morning and had some phone calls to make just now."

"O-oh…yeah," I mutter and silently add _with my grandfather_ but I won't mention it. Collins doesn't seem like the kind of guy to condone eavesdropping.

He then rambles about a tough surgery he just completed, orders the Chinese woman (whose name I learn is Sheila) to create a fire in the fireplace, and then he mentions Gabe's absence at work as an afterthought before returning to the subject of his challenging operation.

I try to focus on what he's saying but since he has mentioned Gabe those same words keep spinning around my head.

_I never wanted you I never wanted you never never never never – _

"Joshua? Joshua? Are you all right?" Collins inquires as he waves a hand in front of my face.

Shaking my head, I clear my throat and stutter, "S-sorry, I zoned out for a moment. What were you saying?"

His mouth tightens into a thin line. Ignoring my last sentence, his deep cobalt eyes stare into mine as he comments in a curious tone, "You seem troubled."

I shake my head again and try to brush it off, "N-no, it's nothing."

"Please, Joshua," he says in his regal yet worried voice. "Your issues concern me and I wish to help. What's the matter?"

Everything. The word is so true that I open my mouth and almost say it, but I hold it back and try to focus on the real issue. I refuse to admit how much Gabe's words affect me – it's embarrassing to see how I was sucked into the childish desire for a parent's love – and force myself to think of anything besides his bitter words.

Gazing at my long bony fingers that curl around each other protectively, my mind drifts to the something else Gabe said: my mother lying about birth control. I remind myself that he must have lied. It's so obvious Gabe's bluffing – ridiculously obvious! And yet I find myself telling Collins what Gabe said. When I do so I laugh at the absurdity of it all, but it comes out as a weak, bitter chuckle and my tone is hesitant.

"That is ridiculous indeed, Joshua," Collins agrees with an amused smile. "Lisa would never act so selfish."

I crack a terribly forced smile and tell myself that if Collins says so then he must be right, but then why do I still feel uneasy? Almost betrayed?

As if unable to miss the opportunity to humiliate Gabe, Collins quickly adds, "Why, I'm sure Gabe was lying just to make himself look better. He's clever, I'll give him that, but I would not be surprised if he lied his way through school. He's probably not even a doctor," he chuckles for a second before his smile returns to a serious frown. "Who knows what other lies he told you?" he adds gravely.

He says all this with his perfectly kind yet not overbearing smile and his perfectly blue eyes focused on me in such a perfect way that it is neither a timid gaze nor a glare. His perfectly blond hair is cut perfectly to follow the shape of his perfectly smooth skull. It's because of these perfect features that make his imperfect words all the more obvious and striking. Gabe might be a lot of things – lazy, smelly, disorganized, selfish, cowardly, asshole-ish – but lying was something I never associated him with. Besides, if he was such a liar then wouldn't he have been able to lie about never wanting me?

But then that means he wasn't lying about the birth control.

Shit.

But by the time all these thoughts have worked their way through my brain Collins is back to rambling about something. Despite my best efforts to focus, I realize that I simply don't care. I nod and smile when I feel that it is a good place to do so while my thoughts drift back to my mother and the birth control.

* * *

><p>We go through the same oh-how-was-your-day-fine-thanks-you-good-thanks motions with dinner. I mumble something every now and then but my mind wanders frequently. I often end up admiring the smooth, over sized black table that is so clean it reflects the chandelier and array of crystal candleholders clearly. I drink from a golden goblet and I am easily confused by the surplus of forks and napkins. Collins laughs when I use the same fork for each portion of the meal.<p>

"You are not in your right mind, Joshua," he chuckles. "That is your salad fork."

"They all look the same to me," I mumble but he doesn't hear because he's already talking again about something else.

Somehow we get to the topic of school and how we both agree that I will return tomorrow.

"Are you sure you want to go back there?" he inquires in a tone that suggests he has a different idea in mind.

"What do you mean?" I ask while lazily stirring my soup with an antique silver spoon.

"Well, it is _public_ school after all," he says with a slight smile as if that sums everything up, but when he sees my confusion he clarifies more. "What I mean to say is you have so much more potential than the other students. I feel your genius may be wasted in such a…_common_ education system. Berwick Academy, however, will be more than willing to accept you."

My stomach twists and I swallow the lump in my throat. I have a feeling I know where this is going.

Nervously, I mutter, "I'm not that smart."

"Oh, you are too humble," he brushes it off while taking a sip of wine. "Though it is near the end of the year, I have some connections with Berwick and we can get you enrolled in just a few days."

"Thank you, but I'm really fine with public school," I insist and force a polite smile, which strains my tense facial muscles.

"You are not in your right mind, Joshua," he smiles in return. "Public school is not right for you. Especially that one. A teacher was arrested for a disgusting scandal, as you know, and I won't tolerate you attending such a vile place anymore."

I open my mouth to make a defense but he suddenly switches topics to swimming and the subject is officially dropped. Still, his suggestion makes me uneasy.

The following day, however, I prepare myself for _public_ school and Collins agrees to take me there without any mention of Berwick Academy. As I begin eating an amulet Sheila prepared for me, he smiles at me though his cobalt eyes are criticizing.

"Joshua, why are you wearing those clothes?" he inquires in a weak attempt for an amused tone. "I had Sheila leave you much more acceptable garments on your dresser."

Confused, I look down to see if I actually wore something inside out, but all I see are my black jeans and blue sweater (which I considered to be dressing rather nicely compared to what most guys wear).

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently.

Shaking his head, he smiles and replies, "They're on your dresser. Change into them. You'll look better."

Because I'd feel way too awkward to argue with him, I trudge back up the stairs and into my designated room. There I find khaki pants, a white button down shirt, and a maroon sweater vest. Very few high school kids can rock the sweater vest without looking like a lonely computer nerd who reads old Spiderman comics on the weekends, and sadly I am not one of those people.

Grumbling, I put the clothes on and look at myself in the mirror. Underweight. Lanky. Massive green hair. And now a sweater vest. If there was a superlative for most awkward I'd totally win.

When Collins sees me, however, he smiles pleasantly and says in a chipper voice, "Much better. Now let's get you to school."

The car ride is comfortably quiet as I watch the trees swim by in a green blur with the morning sun draping the leaves in a golden glow. Collins speaks a few times about tests or quizzes I might have, but I tune him out by staring longingly at the ocean as we pass by it.

Usually when I walk through school people don't even glance at me, so when several heads turn when I step out of Collins' sleek black car I know today will be different. First they stare at the vehicle, which is probably a super expensive and incredibly fast car, and then they look at me. And then somebody laughs.

My face is hot as I duck through the crowd and rush into school. As I walk down the hallway I see Ron crossing my path. He's also wearing a sweater vest, but that combined with his slicked back hair and strong features makes him look presidential while I look like a moron.

Finally I see Alyssa sitting next to my locker. She's wearing jeans and the sweatshirt I once gave her (and the one she wore a certain Friday night). Her russet hair, usually straight and accessorized with a headband, is tousled like she just got out of bed. When she sees me her greens grow wide as she throws herself off the ground and tackles me in a hug.

"Thank God you're okay we were so worried about you cause Gabe called Naomi and then we couldn't find you and I got your message but you never answered any of my calls after that please don't scare us like that again," she rushes almost incoherently as she squeezes me tightly.

Returning her hug, I respond sincerely, "I'm really sorry I worried you."

"You could've answered the phone," she whispers almost bitterly.

"My phone died and I left the charger at Gabe's," I explain as I catch a whiff of her flowery shampoo. "Sorry."

She takes a small step away. Her gaze is intense and concerned as her hands hover lightly on my forearms

"Gabe said you two got into a fight," she begins hesitantly. "And you packed your things and left…. Gabe was freaking out, Joshua. He called Naomi and they were out looking for you all night but he couldn't find you and we were worried that something could have happened to you like…like…"

"It's alright," I reassure her, but before I can say anymore she cuts me off.

"Ugh, I never should have told you what I overheard!" she grumbles to herself.

"Hey, don't blame this on yourself," I cut in. "I needed to the know the truth and I found it."

"What was the truth?"

I suppose she is referring to Gabe's reason for abandoning my mom and me sixteen years ago, but the first thing that comes to mind when she asks are those four little words that seem to drive me into insanity.

"He said he never wanted me."

She pauses. Her mouth opens and closes while her hands hold onto my arms.

"That's not true," she says defiantly.

Confused, my eyebrows scrunch together and I reply meekly, "N-no, he definitely said it."

"Maybe he did say it but he didn't mean it," she replies in that same determined tone.

"I'm pretty sure he meant it," I assure her.

"But that doesn't make sense!" she insists. "He was so worried about you! He was running around the city all night, and he almost called the cops, though I'm not sure why he didn't, but he was definitely terrified. If he didn't want you then he would have just let you leave."

"Then why did he say it?" I ask while I try not to picture Gabe searching for me all night so I won't feel guilty about making him worry.

She hesitates and bites her lip. After a second, she whispers, "I don't know…but he didn't mean it."

Sighing, I shake my head and turn to my locker. A tense silence falls between us as I complete the combination and the metal door opens with a loud squeak.

"Nice…sweater vest?" she says in an attempt to change the subject.

Tugging at the scratchy material, I grumble, "Collins made me wear it."

"Well, it looks nice!" she compliments but Alyssa's a terrible liar and her grin falters.

"I look like a moron, don't I?" I ask dryly.

"No you don't!" she encourages, and I actually think she might be sincere. "But…how about you just take it off and put it on before you leave?"

I follow her advice and I didn't realize how tight it was until I can fully extend my lungs again. She instructs me to untuck my shirt and unbutton the first few buttons on my shirt so the collar is no longer choking me. With nimble fingers that brush gently against my skin, she rolls my sleeves up to my elbow and deems me _normal enough_.

Funny thing about normalcy is that I've never actually known it.

* * *

><p>I spend most of my days at school because Collins doesn't return until seven and I'd rather not be alone in such a big, unfamiliar house for so long. When I am with him though I am at ease and we talk like we used to. He never mentions Gabe but always manages to get my mother into the conversation. Sometimes I think Gabe is going to call me, but he doesn't. Further proof that Alyssa was wrong.<p>

Overall Collins is good, polite company. He is interested in what I did at school, feeds me, and always has an outfit planned for me (which isn't necessarily a good thing and slightly degrading because I can dress myself, but at least he cares). And as the week goes slowly by I discover that the only fault of our relationship is when he says things like, _Why are you holding your knife like that, Joshua? Oh, you are not in your right mind. Hold it like _this.

He had never criticized me before, but as the days pass I seem to be out of my right mind much more often.

_Your backpack is so ratty, why are you using such an old thing?_

_Cereal for breakfast? Gentlemen don't have cereal, Joshua. We have manly things, like pancakes and toast._

_You can't wear a silver watch with that sweater; they don't match. Here, wear this gold one instead._

_We've been over this. Hold your knife like _this.

So he's a bit critical? But isn't that what all good parents do? They just want what is best for their children. Maybe that's why Gabe never corrected me on anything I did.

We get along together, despite these quirks, so I bear his judgmental remarks. They aren't so bad…at least, that is what I thought until Thursday morning.

I come downstairs wearing a lame green sweater vest, khakis fresh out of the dryer, and a new backpack that he just bought for me. Even though my old one had holes and was missing two zippers I still loved it because my mom had gotten it for me my first day of high school. It wasn't a big deal or anything, but I like those tokens that remind me of her. Collins got rid of it, however, and replaced it with this new leather thing that looks like it came out of a preppy magazine.

I tell myself that it's just a backpack. Yep, nothing to worry about.

I quickly eat the "manly" pancakes Sheila cooked for me as my hand struggles to hold the knife the "right" way. Collins sits beside me as he types something on his computer, waiting for me to finish.

"You'll be attending Berwick Academy starting next Monday," he suddenly says cheerfully and I choke on a piece of pancake.

After a few powerful coughs and some rapid sips of water, the pancake goes down but I'm still shocked.

"What?" I gawk.

"I just got the confirmation e-mail," he beams without glancing at me. "But I suppose you should still go to school today…couldn't hurt I suppose."

"I don't want to go to Berwick," I tell him defiantly.

"Sure you do."

"No," I reply slowly yet powerfully. "I _won't_ go to Berwick."

He's silent for a moment and glances at the clock.

"Time to go," he says gladly as if he didn't hear a word I just said.

I'm stumped for a moment and try to figure out if there is anything I can say to make Berwick completely out of the question, but he leaves without another word. My mouth hangs open as I glance at Sheila. She's standing in the corner with a hand on a plate and her stony black eyes staring at me. I hope there is sympathy in them.

Still befuddled by what just happened, I reluctantly meet Collins at his car and we begin the drive together. It's quiet, thankfully, but I'm still reeling with what just happened.

Halfway there, Collins decides to add to my misery.

"You should cut your hair," he says casually.

I blink a few times. Replay the words in my head and decide I misheard him.

"Sorry, what did you say?" I ask politely while I lazily watch the passing landscape.

"Cut your hair," he repeats. "It's too long."

First Berwick and now this? Ugh. Well, I guess a half-inch or so off wouldn't hurt.

"Sure, I'll get a trim," I agree grudgingly with a shrug.

"No, I mean a completely new look," he corrects eagerly. "Something short and clean cut, not this wild rebel look you seem to be going for right now."

Lifting my head off the seat, I turn to see if he's joking. His cobalt eyes are focused on the road and his countenance is poised. No laughter. No grin.

Shit, he's serious.

"No!" I shout in a panic. He glances at me nervously as I turn red from my outburst. Clearing my throat, I correct in a calmer tone, "I mean…n-no. No thanks."

"But I insist," he urges with that what-I-say-goes tone. "You'll look much better."

"I really think I look fine this way," I persist with clenched teeth.

I know that being a guy means my hairstyle shouldn't matter to me, but I have wild green hair that allows me be mistaken for a short tree when I'm seen from a distance. Maybe it looks silly sometimes and maybe it's too similar to Gabe's style for my liking, but this is, as girls often say, part of who I am. Changing it would be like painting the Statue of Liberty pink: disgusting and possibly offensive.

"But think about it, Joshua," he continues. "Do you ever see successful men with hair like yours? Some people might not take you seriously with your current hairstyle."

"Thanks but no – "

"And we could dye it, too," he adds in with a hopeful smile on his pale face. "A dark brown would probably be best, but we'll see what the hairdresser will say."

"_Dye it_?" I repeat incredulously. "I can't dye my hair!"

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. "Oh, Joshua," he says almost condescendingly. "You are not in your right mind. Part of being successful is looking the part."

"Then maybe success to me is having awesome green hair," I retort and shoot him a glare, which he doesn't see.

He just laughs and falls silent. The subject is dropped but I simply know he is still thinking of all the ways to restyle my hair.

I slump in my seat, fuming, and before I can stop myself I think that Gabe would never make me cut my hair.

_Because he's too lazy and inconsiderate_, I correct myself though the thought still pangs my chest for reasons unknown to me. Or, rather, reasons I'd rather not accept.

* * *

><p>At the beginning of school I can't stop thinking about how Collins wants to change my hair, but as the day wears on my thoughts drift back to what I seem to always be thinking about these days: Gabe and my mother.<p>

I've asked Alyssa what she thinks about my mother lying about birth control, though she is at much of a loss as I am. Unlike Collins, she doesn't immediately side against Gabe but thinks about it thoroughly from every angle. To her, it is likely that Gabe wasn't lying, but her thinking must be flawed. It has to be.

The argument in my head manifests throughout the day. Alyssa has piano lessons, swimming is canceled, Luke went home, I'm feeling antisocial, and I'm done with all my homework, leaving me with nothing to do but stare at the rain as I continue with my inner conflict.

After about ten minutes of sitting in solace, I realize that the only person who can tell me is Gabe himself. I'd have to talk to him, have to smell his burnt odor, and have to look at him while knowing that he still doesn't want me.

Pushing myself up, I roll my shoulders back and say confidently to myself, "Fuck it. I'm getting an answer."

And with that I hop on a city bus, sit anxiously in the back corner for about five minutes, walk confidently through the light rain, march up the stairs to the apartment (elevator is still broken), and knock on his door.

I wait.

He doesn't answer.

I'm not surprised, however, since Gabe never answers the door. Thankfully, I remove a loose brick from the side and find a key that I stashed there when I first moved in. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I raise my head high, tell myself to get in and get out, and then open the door.

"Gabe, I need to – " I begin to say but my words fail me when I finally step inside the apartment.

I know I am in the wrong room and that somebody else must also use the hide-the-key-behind-a-brick trick, but when I check the number on the door my heart drops. 536. This is it….

Maybe I'm in the wrong building? No, I can't be that stupid. But this…

There is no ratty leather couch or a barely working television with a crack in its screen. There is no pile of trash and cigarettes on a cheap coffee table. There is no bookshelf filled with worn medical journals or a dust-covered fake plant. There is _nothing_. All that remains is the pungent smell of smoke and a yellow stain on the wall.

I wander cautiously into the apartment, my soft footsteps loud in the silence, and call out nervously, "Gabe?"

No answer.

I walk into the kitchen but everything is gone. It is the cleanest it has ever been – no dirty dishes, no blender, no rotten tomatoes, no egg yokes on the ceiling. There is only the green counter top that wraps around the edge of the room and an island in the middle.

Quickly backtracking out of the kitchen, I rush into Gabe's room.

Empty.

The bathroom.

Empty.

My room.

Empty.

Stunned, I return to the main room and stare at the gross, unpleasant yellow stain on the wall. It's the only testament that this is – or _was_ – Gabe's apartment.

Bewildered, I rush down to the lobby of the apartment building. I see David, a large dark skinned man who has always been kind to me, sitting behind the reception desk. My voice shakes when I ask urgently,

"Where's Gabe?"

He looks at me with confused brown eyes as he replies gently, "He left, Joshua…. Why aren't you with him?"

Ignoring his question, I ask urgently, "When did he leave? Where did he go?"

"He left two days ago, but I don't know where," he answers in a slow, contemplative tone while looking at me nervously.

I bite my lip for a moment and try to understand why my hands are shaking and why my mouth has gone dry. The blood rushes in my head like a swarm of confused bees. When I speak I don't know what I'm saying – the words just flow out without any filter.

"So he just left?" I gawk. "H-he packed his bags and ran away?"

I hesitate, but not long enough for David to respond. Every thought turns into bitter words and I shout them with no sign of stopping, even when people look over uneasily.

"What was he even running away from?" I yell while leaning aggressively forward. "I got his message! I wasn't going to try and work things out because I know that he would never want it. Is he that _fucking _cowardly? Too scared to even look at me? Because if he saw me then he'd be reminded of how much of a fucking failure he is? What a coward. And he took my stuff, too! I was planning on getting that back, but he wouldn't even think of that because he's an inconsiderate, cowardly, asshole!"

"Joshua, calm down," David rushes in his deep voice as he half stands in his chair. "I can find out where he is for you."

"No!" I snap. "Tell that asshole that I hope he has another son who hates him and will intrude in his oh-so 'important' life!"

I punch the table, spin on my heels, and storm out. Even as I push past people in the revolving door I can feel my heart tightening with sorrow and my body trembling. My breathing comes out shallow and raspy. The rain soothes my burning face as I run to the bus station, desperate to get away from here.

All the while those horrible words are playing in my head.

What a fucking, cowardly, asshole.

I sit on the bus with my throbbing head in my cold hands, too weird looking for even the thugs to consider mugging me.

Loneliness. I am filled with such loneliness that it hurts like frigid numbness. With Gabe gone, I am technically an orphan.

Breathing deeply, I remind myself that I am not alone. I've got Alyssa, Doctor Kimishima, Luke, the swim team, and some other people who I know enough to joke around with.

Even though, right now I just want to wallow in my self-pity for the rest of this bus ride and drill my un-loneliness into me. Stubbornly, I tell myself that Gabe will not affect me.

…

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>

So REALLY sorry about how late this was (over a month…whoops). In my defense this chapter was a bitch to write, and the first go through of it sucked. I managed to fix it up because of my AMAZING beta reader **Tell Her This** really helped me out here. She thought of the idea for Collins to want to change Joshua's education to a private one, so credit for the idea goes to her, not me (a lot of credit goes to her actually for helping me out so much). By the way, Berwick Academy is somewhat made up. I googled "private schools in Portland Maine" and that was the first name on the list but I did no further research.

Also, heated toilet seats are AWESOME. I experienced one in a hotel in Chicago, and maybe it is strange but I want one.

I've been getting a lot of great feedback for this story and I love every review, favorite, and alert I receive, so thanks a bajillion tons to **Tell Her This**, **magikid196, Indochine, ADarknessInHeaven, Canada Cowboy, Orwell is watching-xoxo, **and **Emily and Dixie** for your fantastic and supportive reviews!

So not many chapters left guys…4 at most but likely only 3 left. I'm sure the next update won't take as long as this one.

Also, if you love father-son connections like I do, then I suggest you tune into the show Touch on Fox because the little boy there is adorable and he looks exactly how I'd picture Joshua when he's ten and if TT was a live action thing.

So thanks again for reading and please give me some feedback! It makes my day. :)

~~Wave~~


	12. Somewhere Only We Know

Chapter Twelve – Somewhere Only We Know

* * *

><p>Resting my head on her shoulder, I can feel her body swell with each gentle breath she takes, her silent puffs of air tickling the ends of my hair. Her slender arms drape around my tiny build protectively and her fingers skim my shoulder in soothing motions. She smells of magnolias.<p>

Though there is no sound I know what she's saying. I've been here before, six years ago, but I clearly remember her soft words as the early morning light slowly illuminates the dull hospital room.

_ The pain will fade soon, baby. In just a day you'll feel so much better_.

My head throbs and my body burns as the numbing medicine wears off. Earlier I had tried to hide my discomfort, but the after effects of my operation were too painful and the tears came down despite my greatest efforts. I still have a few more hours until I can take more medicine, which feels a lot longer when the pain is so powerful that you can barely move, so we just snuggle in my hospital bed. And now I'm hugging her side to get as much warmth as possible and she continues to whisper into the dark, empty room.

_You were so brave. You are so brave._

It is now that I tell myself I love her. I have always felt this way, but the simple acknowledgement makes some of the pain disappear.

_My baby genius, you aren't scared of anything are you?_

But I want to tell her that I'm absolutely terrified. Terrified of having to face the world without her guidance, terrified of not having somebody who will want me no matter what I do, and terrified that I'll never find peace again.

But before I can utter any of my fears everything changes. She's sitting in a car now and I'm nonexistent, just a watcher. Her curly brown hair is pulled back into a sloppy bun as her long fingers slip and slide with the steering wheel. Aside from the occasional highway lamp that periodically illuminates her like a spark of fire, she blends in with the black night. If it weren't for the dull blue glow of the dashboard she'd be invisible.

Her lips mouth the lyrics to a song as her eyes, bleary with exhaustion, blink slowly. She glances at the clock on the GPS and reminds herself that it won't be long now.

_2:26, _she mouths. _Almost._

And now I'm more terrified than ever. The time, her exhaustion, her business clothes, the darkness of the highway, the loneliness of the night.

And finally, the oncoming vehicle.

She doesn't notice it at first. When the headlights disturb her vision she simply glances elsewhere, but then those lights become bigger and brighter. Her thin eyebrows knit together in confusion. Bigger and brighter. Her mouth opens and closes, as if unable to voice her confusion. I want to scream. Bigger and brighter. I know what I need to do. I need to tell her to pull over or at least honk the horn, but the words won't come out. Bigger and brighter. Force is the only way I can save her now though I know I'm incapable of doing anything. My limbs won't follow their orders – grab the steering wheel, grab it grab it grab it. Yet she still holds onto it and continues down her doomed course.

Bigger and brighter.

Finally she understands the situation.

Bigger and brighter.

But it's too late. She doesn't have time to even scream before the collision.

I wake up.

I can feel my body again as my chest rises up and down with each panting breath I take. Cold sweat drips down my hot face while my clammy hands clench the gold comforter in a death grip. A scream is lodged in my throat.

Turning my head to the side, I read the clock. _2:26. _

I watch the numbers change for about half an hour. All the while I'm either focusing on my heavy breathing or choking on sobs. Although I try to resist, memories of my mother's funeral resurface. That day is mainly a blur to me except for one specific moment. Just before her coffin was about to be slipped into the gaping hole, I finally acknowledged that I would never see her again. Throughout the wake I had the smallest bit of comfort knowing her body was in the same room as me, even if it was slowly decaying, but that too was about to be sucked away with the Earth.

I hated nature then, and now as I limply lie here I grow to hate _The Lion King_. Circle of Life my ass.

_3:01_. My bedroom door opens.

I roll over to see the intruder but there is no light and the person's small frame is just a black silhouette. Nothing moves as we simply look at each other, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Eventually I can detect wide hips and a dress.

"Sheila?" I mumble with confusion.

"Come," she whispers urgently. It's the first thing I've ever heard her say and she sounds nervous, maybe even frightened. This can't be good.

I open my mouth to ask why but she has already turned around and left the room. The door is still open.

Ugh, she wants me to follow her... at three in the morning.

Suppressing a groan or a sob (I'm not sure which one), I roll off the bed. When I go to grab some clothes all I find are khakis and sweater vests, but underneath that mound of over peppiness is a pair of ratty jeans with a hole in the knee and a belt lope missing. I put them on and give the khakis a middle finger.

I blame my immaturity on the late hour.

Without hesitation I venture into the hallway and quickly walk after Sheila's fleeting form. I soon learn that following her is like following a ghost. She's barely visible in the shadowed halls and she never makes a noise. Meanwhile, I'm stumbling around in a mix of sorrow, exhaustion, and confusion, but I try to be as quiet as possible. When somebody comes at three in the morning without saying a word or even turning on a light, secrecy is definitely a top priority.

We eventually stop outside a door at the end of one of the many long corridors. At my feet is the head of the rug's white snake with a blood red tongue flicking out of its opened, fanged mouth. Looking at it makes me wonder if I should be scared, but for some reason I'm not. At least not of Sheila or Collins or whatever lies inside this room. Nothing can be more terrifying than my dream.

I'm not aware Sheila has unlocked the door until she soundlessly pushes it open. When she doesn't move I enter and she follows me, closing the door behind us with a soft _thud._

Without warning she turns on a dim light but it still hurts. I clamp my pained eyes shut while grumbling, "Damn it, Sheila…"

When I finally adjust to the dull light I'm not surprised at the sight of an extravagant study. The chandelier reflects off the glossy wooden floor and crimson tapestries dangle around a massive window at the other side of the room. Bookshelves line the room like a knowledgeable fence, its row only broken by the occasional classical oil painting of an old English lord or a still life of fruit.

Standing proudly before the window is a long black desk with the legs of a lion. Among the assortment of shiny objects is a sleek laptop. Sheila waits patiently beside it and I approach with uncertainty, fully aware that I'm part of something shady right now.

Once I'm close enough she gracefully goes behind the desk and pulls a key from her skirt's pocket. I recognize the key to be one of the many items Collins keeps locked in his briefcase.

I open my mouth to ask if she stole it but she's already opening a drawer before I can utter a sound. Despite her placid countenance, her hands are shaking as she removes a manila folder and holds it out for me. I hesitate for a moment, my morals telling me no, but curiosity wins and I take it.

My conscious is still scolding me as I open the folder and read the first lines.

_Last Will and Testament of Anthony F. Billington_.

I hesitate and read the words again. Why does Collins' have my grandfather's will?

"Why are you showing me this?" I whisper.

"Because I can't watch Doctor Collins lie to you anymore," she responds strongly yet in hushed tones.

Well, that can't be good.

My stomach tightens as I look back at the document. Preparing myself for a dark secret soon to be revealed, I keep reading.

_I, Anthony Billington, residing at 31 Maple Road in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament and herby revoke any and all Wills and Codicils at any time heretofore made by me._

Glancing through the next few paragraphs, disappointment sets in. It's just stuff about his future burial, debts, and foreign legal terms. I was hoping for something more exciting, like he's a CIA operator or an ex-prince of some random country.

"So…" I whisper. "Why is this important?"

She grabs the papers from me with unnecessary force (and an evident lack of manners) before handing them back to me with a new page on top. With a stubby finger she jabs at one of the last paragraphs.

_I give, devise, and bequeath each and every thing of value of which I may die possessed, including real property, personal property, and mixed properties to Gregory S. Collins, but only in the event that Gregory S. Collins gains custody of Joshua L. Cunningham. In the event that Gregory S. Collins does not gain custody of Joshua L. Cunningham for a period of three months following the date of my death, then everything of value of which I may die possessed will be given, devised, and bequeathed to my companion, Adam J. Gardner._

I read it again.

And again.

And again.

"This doesn't make sense," I whisper in disbelief, and the shakiness of my voice surprises me. My clammy hands are gripping the paper so hard that crinkles are forming and I can hear my heart pounding in my chest.

"This doesn't make sense," I say again as I look at Sheila. For the first time her black eyes clearly show sympathy and her thin lips dip into a frown.

I glance back at the document and read the last line.

_I subscribe my name to this will the twentieth day of February 2026, at Portland, Maine._

My breath hitches in my throat. This will was made three days after my mother's death.

I glance at Sheila but she's still silent. Her fingers fiddle with each other in front of her stomach, like she's afraid Collins will pop out at any moment, and this obvious apprehension heightens my own anxiety. With my stomach twisted into nervous knots, I read the paragraph again. Halfway through I stop and think I'm going to be sick.

"That's why he came, isn't it?" I sputter weakly. "He never wanted me…he wanted the money."

And then I realize the flaw in all this. Money. I look around the room and I know it to be true.

Relieved, I say mostly to myself, "But he doesn't need the money."

We're silent for a moment with my pounding heart the only noise in the room. I know I'm right but I still look to Sheila for confirmation. Her black eyes focus on one of the desk's many objects: an antique dagger in a glass case. The handle is rigid with rubies, diamonds, and other colorful gems that seem to have a perpetual twinkle. I can only imagine how much it must have cost, and even in the dull light its sharp, curved blade glows with an ethereal luminosity.

"The greedy are never satisfied."

At first I think I said it, but I quickly correct myself and look at Sheila. Her black eyes stare at me with stoniness, daring me to accept the truth.

I look back at the blade and swallow a lump in my throat.

Suddenly nothing makes sense as my brain erupts with an overload of thoughts. Why would anybody spend a bunch of money on a fancy knife? What's the purpose of that? Okay, so maybe there might be some sentimental value, but is there any emotional connection with all the chandeliers, surplus of pillows, red silk pajamas, golden goblets, or paintings? All of it seems incredibly stupid, like collecting coins. Maybe that is what he's doing, collecting all the fancy objects to make himself feel better because he has things that nobody else has. While my mother and Gabe may have enjoyed a few laughs at a cheap movie he was sitting at a desk that was originally in the Palace of Versailles. And while my mother and I ate pizza from a cardboard box, content with the mere presence of each other, he prided himself in his silver plates and high quality food.

Looking at the dagger, I can see why he bought all these items, but at the same time a horrible, nauseating thought sinks in. It leaves me confused on how to act. Should I burn down this grotesque building, stab Collins with his bedazzled knife, or cry myself to sleep? Because if the majority of his life has been getting what others don't have, then does that make me just another thing in his collection? Does he see me and think, _I finally have what Gabe failed to hold on to_, or does he think about the money he'll receive from my grandfather?

Or maybe I'm wrong. I try to force myself to think logically but I can't get past those thoughts. Instead I just keep telling myself I'm wrong.

"I…" I stutter, surprised by the weakness in my voice. "I need to talk to Collins."

Before I can even try stumbling towards the door Sheila steps towards me until she is less than an arms length away. I can tell from her frown and the hardness in her dark eyes that she's against the idea.

"But this doesn't make sense!" I argue, desperation making my voice louder. "I need somebody to explain this to me, and that person is Collins."

She shakes her head and says in a voice so similar to my mother's that shivers crawl down my spine, "He dropped his job as head surgeon, moved to the other side of the country, and has been accompanying you for over a month. He will not let you go easily."

The silence that follows makes me feel like I'm drowning. My stomach churns, breathing stops, heartbeat becomes slow and heavy, and an invisible weight presses on my shoulders.

"What are you implying?" I whisper shakily.

She doesn't speak because she doesn't need to. I know the answer as soon as she presses the car keys into my hands.

* * *

><p>Tonight is the first time I commit a felony, and it isn't just one.<p>

First I steal Collins' precious car. I imagine him buying it with proud smirk, thinking of Gabe and his shitty vehicle that can barely make it out of the driveway.

Then I drive without a license.

My third felony is an accident. I think. When I back out of the garage the bumper hits a massive, indestructible tree. Even though I wince at the sound of crunching metal, I don't regret it.

In order not to alert Collins or any strange security devices he might have, I speed down the shadowy driveway with the lights off. Crime four – headlights must be active at night.

I drive the car to the pier, fight off the urge to send it into the ocean, and ditch it as I walk three blocks to my destination. My legs hurt either from the long, rapid walk, the early hour, or the shock from what I have just discovered, but when I finally get there I no longer care about any of that.

The house is just as I remember it. It is squeezed between two much larger houses, and the Victorian styled tower peaks above the neighboring building, like a child raising his hand in a large crowd. The first drops of rain slide down the black shingles and drip off the edge. A cold breeze brushes past the silver chimes that hang above an ivory lounge chair on the porch. Its twinkling song makes me shudder.

I find myself walking forward even though I no longer want to be here. Longing weighs heavily on my heart, and while it hurts it also helps in a way that I can't explain.

Climbing the three stairs, I notice the blue paint is peeling and a lump forms in my throat. For a month my mom kept saying how she wanted to paint the house but refused to spend money for somebody to do a half-ass job. She had spent long hours in stores searching for the right _robin egg blue_. I was watching T.V. when she finally came home with handfuls of paint cans, talking endlessly about her plans to restore our home. "Cool" was all I said.

The memory still lingers as I go to the front window. Of course the door is locked, but that has never been a problem for me. I reach behind the white bench and grab an old piece of flat scrap metal. Slipping it under the window, I use it to poke the lock until a soft _click _echoes through the silent night. In five seconds I slide the window open, pull myself through it, land on the inside, and shut it again. Breaking and entering – crime number five.

A sudden anger grows inside me as I look around the room. Everything is covered in white sheets, as if each piece of furniture is dressing up as a ghost for Halloween. The fabrics hide everything that I ever loved, like they're telling me I'm not allowed to look on these items and remember my mother. I don't know who covered everything, but the thought of somebody wandering through the rooms containing the last memories of my mother irks me.

And dust. There is so much dust. On the floor, on the white blob where the couch should be, on the other blob where the lamp should be, and on all the other blobs. My mother spent years cleaning this house, so why should it stop now that she's underground?

Even while I yank all the white sheets away, my footsteps painfully loud during the process, I hate myself for not coming here before. For a few minutes I curse Doctor Kimishima. She said she'd keep my home in proper care. That's possibly the first lie she ever told me, or at least the only one I've proven.

I go through each room on the first floor and pile the sheets on the front porch. The electricity won't work, so I sweep until my eyes are teary from the accumulation of dust. I scoop up spiders, ants, and other insects to throw outside. If my mother hadn't scolded me for killing them before I would have crushed them for invading our home. I tell them they have her to thank for another day of their insignificant lives.

And suddenly I'm exhausted. Silent tears glide down my grimy face as I look around the family room. There's a blue floral couch with stains from drops of red wine and other drinks I knocked over as a baby. In front of that is a simple wooden coffee table where we used to race my toy cars and place puzzle pieces until the portrait of the _Girl with a Pearl Earring _was complete. A bookshelf beside the wall is filled with her favorite novels, which are separated by shells we collected from the beach and glass bowls from her friend's store in downtown Portland. Cheap paintings of the shore and boats we bought together decorate the walls. There's a small photo sitting on a little table beside the couch: me on my fifth birthday blowing out the candles and her smiling behind me with her hands resting comfortably on my small shoulders.

Numbness doesn't come this time as tears drip from my chin and land soundlessly on the floor. Outside the rain is a mere drizzle but I wish it were stronger so it would be like the world is sobbing for me.

I stand there for a long time filled with too much emotion to even think. Eventually I turn away from the room and trudge up the narrow staircase, down a short hallway, and into another small room. There is a tiny bit of gratitude when I remove the white sheet to see that her bed has been left untouched.

Even now I kick off my shoes when I crawl into the bed, not wanting to dirty her fluffy white sheets or ratty old quilt. Collapsing into the blankets, I inhale her smell. Magnolias. It is faint but still there, and that only makes me sob. It hurts every part of me but there is some comfort when I imagine her hands rubbing my back just as she did when I was a boy. Grabbing the blankets and pillows, I stuff them into my face and try to bring it all back: the smell, the memories, the soothing words, the music, everything.

* * *

><p>I'm not aware that I dozed off until I wake up with a start. My head is throbbing from crying myself to sleep and my eyes are sore. There isn't a second of confusion; I know exactly where I am, why I came here, and how lonely I feel.<p>

Sensing a presence, I roll over, the blankets tangling around me like a cocoon, and look at the doorway. My throat constricts when I see him. Dark shadows surround his ochre eyes and a thick stubble brushes his tense jaw. As usual his wild green hair is pulled back with a rubber band, though his orange suit is more wrinkled than normal. His brown tie hangs sloppily around his neck. Before he can say anything I roll back on my side so I don't have to look at him.

"Go away," I croak, failing to sound demanding like I wanted.

He doesn't say anything. I listen for receding footsteps but there is no sound.

Suppressing a sigh, I close my eyes and try to return to sleep. I force my breathing to become steady and laborious, hoping he'll leave once he thinks I'm sleeping.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks in a coarse whisper.

I clench my teeth. Hadn't I just told him to go away? What a stupid man.

"Yes," I snap, but before I can stop myself another word slips out. "No."

Instantly I hate myself for saying it. I tell myself I only said it so I could ask the questions that have been plaguing me for the past week, but even in my mind I don't sound convincing.

The bed sinks when he sits beside me. His burnt scent mingles with the magnolias so I stuff my face deeper into the pillow, hoping her smell will stay with me. My eyes are heavy but no tears come.

"I'm sorry – "

"Shut up," I cut him off bitterly.

"Please just let – "

"I said shut up!" I snap and cover my ears with my hands. Squeezing my eyes shut, my fingers dig into my scalp as I focus on steadying my breathing. I imagine my mother stroking my shoulder. Stroking and stroking and stroking while I breathe and breathe and breathe.

_Mom…_I think. _It hurts, Mom._

I imagine her response. _What hurts, baby_?

_Everything._

_It will get better._

_That's getting harder and harder to believe._

_You'd be surprised._

_How would you know?_

_From experience_.

My breathing is now in time with my heartbeat but my mind is still whirling. I try to cling to the conversation in my mind but I feel myself unable to think of what she would say next. Be brave baby genius? I love you? Something corny that I would tease her for in order to lighten the mood?

I pinch the spot between my thumb and index finger to bring me back to reality. Although I wish he'd throw himself into the ocean, I talk to him only to distract myself from my misery and to fill some of my loneliness. That's how desperate I am.

Still facing away from him, I ask breathlessly, "Why are you here?"

He hesitates. "To find you," he replies softly.

"How'd you know I needed to be found?"

I feel him shift around next to me before he answers slowly, "Naomi called me and said you were missing. Collins must have called her, probably assuming you went to give Alyssa a visit or something, so she called me…"

I swallow the lump in my throat and gently stroke the edge of the pillow with my finger. How did Collins know I ran away when it is still so early in the morning? Maybe hitting the tree woke him up…. I hope Sheila's not in trouble.

"So how'd you find me?" I ask.

"Because after I left you and Lisa I also came back here."

I stop stroking. What's more surprising? He still thinks of Lisa or he is willing to talk about his private life without me pressuring him?

"When I left I went back to my hometown in Vermont for about a month," he confesses in a hushed, remorseful voice. "When I returned to Portland the first thing I did was drive by this house. I made up some dumb excuse – something about checking the mail – and drove by. She walked by this window," he says and I glance at sad window, which is blurred by the recent rain. "For a second I had thought I could just walk back in like nothing happened…but that wasn't possible, obviously."

He pauses for a second but keeps talking as if he can't control himself.

"And…well, I don't know," he says wistfully. "For a while I just sat there, and then she came back in front of the window with you in her arms. I don't think she noticed me…or maybe she ignored me, but anyway I watched her rock you in her arms and tuck you into bed. I didn't leave until you finally stopped squirming and she turned off the lights, which took forever by the way because you refused to fall asleep. And…and then I left. I don't know why I went in the first place."

I imagine him shrugging with a dumb look on his face.

"It's simple," I tell him in my weak voice. "You missed her."

For a second I listen to his heavy breathing and the dull moan of the rain hitting against the roof. Water falls past the window in a tiny waterfall, reminding me of how much my mother loved the rain.

"I missed you, too," he whispers breathlessly, as if he is shocked by the fact.

"No you didn't," I sneer and a familiar urge to punch him resurfaces.

"But I did –,"

"No you didn't!" I retort. "You said it yourself, you never wanted me. Not then, not now, not ever."

"Joshua…" he whispers and I think I hear his voice shake, but I probably just imagined it. "I didn't mean that."

"Then why did you say it?" I ask grudgingly as I return to stroking the pillow.

"I-I…" he stutters, frustration slipping into his calm tone. "I don't know! Sometimes people say what they don't mean, you know?"

"But you meant it," I correct him harshly.

He releases an exasperated sigh, but before he can say anything else I sit up and face him so he's forced to see all the loathing held within my glare.

"Stop lying to me!" I snap and clutch the ratty old quilt with my shaking fingers. "You left! I went to your apartment the other day and everything was gone. If you didn't mean that then you wouldn't have ran away like the fucking coward that you are!"

Rolling back onto my side and away from him, I cover my ears again so I won't have to hear his pathetic excuses. I listen more intently to the hum of my throbbing head and shaky breathing than I have in school for the past few months.

For a while nothing happens. I close my eyes. _Breathe_, I think. _Breathe breathe breathe._

"I can explain that," he says with some confidence, his voice breaking through my barrier.

"I don't care –,"

"Just give me a chance, okay?" He interrupts by raising his voice over mine. I press my hands into my ears but do nothing else.

Once he sees that I won't respond, he takes a deep breath and says, "As soon as you left I knew I made a huge mistake, and I…well, I-I…. Ugh, I suck at this whole _emotional _thing! I couldn't even do it when a dying man asked me to tell his wife and daughter that he loved them! I…."

He stops abruptly, grumbles incoherently, sighs, and then tries again.

"I'm bad with words, obviously, so I tried doing more action…type stuff…to, you know, show you that I'm serious when I say that I don't want to lose you. I bought a house. That's why the apartment was empty. When I heard you were living with Collins and not on a bus to New York City to be a hobo I decided that I needed to get my shit together, so I bought a house. It's small, kind of like this one, but just a walk away from the beach. You like swimming so I thought being by the ocean would be good, and you have your own bathroom and the larger bedroom. I also quit smoking…well, I'm _trying_ to at least. Damn those things are addicting," he chuckles half-heartedly for a second and then trails off. We fall to silence.

I try to not care about anything he said. A new house by the ocean? Whatever. Quit smoking? Nothing impressive.

But when I try to not think of Gabe I think of Collins, and that hurts more. I want to believe that Gabe is genuine and that we can work things out, but I'm terrified of doing so.

"Why did you do all that?" I ask meekly.

"Because…" he begins unsteadily. "Because you're my son. You're my son, and that's all there is to it. You're my son."

I think we both notice how strange it sounds. We're quiet and are amazed by how that truth makes us feel warm inside, like we're not alone.

"And you know what?" He adds in a strong, hopeful tone. "I'm not letting you go. I've let everything else in my life slip away from me – my job, my health, my marriage, my family – and for the first time in my life I'm _fighting_ for something. I'm not just sitting around, half-assing shit. I'm _fighting_. And maybe I can't ever make up for leaving you and being a terrible dad, but I'm going to try to make you happy, even if it means I have to hunt you down every night because I said something offensive or if I have to shower twice a day or…or…"

He trails off. There is a brief moment of nothing until I feel his fingers hovering just above my shoulder, like he's scared I'll push him away, but I don't move. The rest of his hand slowly comes down and gently rests on my shoulder. The contact is warm and comforting because that is where my mother always rubbed when she wanted to comfort me.

For a split second I begin to think of that house, but then I stop myself from falling into a potential trap. What if Gabe has similar intentions as Collins? Maybe he thinks he can get my inheritance from my mom, but I know for a fact the money belongs completely to me so that mustn't be it. I doubt my grandfather would give him the same offer as he did to Collins because that just wouldn't make sense. What else could it be then? Is he like Collins in that he wants whatever Collins doesn't have? He has never been jealous of his enemy before, just pissed off at him, so that likely isn't it. Ugh, I wish Doctor Kimishima were here so she could do all this logical deduction for me.

And then a crazy thought enters my head: what if everything he has said tonight is the truth? But why? Did he have an aneurysm? Drunk dialed a real estate officer, accidentally bought a house, and then decided to move into it for fun? Sheila made him?

Or maybe it's the simple answer, the one he said before. I'm his son. He's my dad. Even in my head it sounds strange, yet at the same time it fits.

But I need proof. If Doctor Kimishima were solving my mental investigation she'd demand evidence.

"Show me," I whisper, surprised by the strength in my voice. I squirm in the bed until I'm sitting up beside him. His amber eyes are the softest I've ever seen them and that gives me a sense of reassurance as I demand, "Show me the house."

A hint of a smile plays on his thin lips as he nods and pushes himself off the bed. I stand with him, my legs wobbly from fatigue and recent sorrow, and follow him into the hall. We walk only a few feet before he stops outside a door that is slightly open. His eyebrows scrunch together with a look of intrigue, though I don't know why he'd be interested in my room. Without asking for permission his fingers delicately push the wood and the door moves with a dull moan.

I follow him inside and see that my old bedroom is just how I left it. My unmade bed is tucked in the corner of the rectangular room, its blankets a sloppy mess from when Doctor Kimishima woke me in the middle of the night to tell me my mother was in critical condition. The green fuzzy rug I had since I was three, and the same one I stumbled across that night to get to my buzzing phone, which was charging on a cheap wooden desk across from the bed. I had then opened my dresser to get some clothes; the top drawer is still open with a pant leg draped over the side.

It's like a captured moment in time, but one I'd rather forget than relive.

I have come back here before now; however, that was with Doctor Kimishima and Little Guy to grab my necessities. That's why the white sheets are already gone. Then I had moved as fast as possible and didn't touch anything that didn't need to be touched.

Gabe walks towards the desk and looks at the bulletin board hanging above him. I scan the documents with him: concert tickets to Black Alaska, a couple of ribbons from various swim meets, a fortune cookie with a raunchy saying, pictures of Alyssa, me, and some other kids at her eleventh birthday, my name in Arabic written by a kid I met at camp once, more photos of me and other kids throughout my life, and one candid picture of my mom with her mouth full of rice and chopsticks sticking out between her lips. He smiles when he sees that photo.

"I wish I was there," he says wistfully, still staring at the picture.

"Yeah, it was pretty funny," I agree, my voice sounding exhausted, as I remember how she always groaned with embarrassment whenever she saw that photo.

"I wish I was there," he echoes, this time without a smile.

I watch him travel around my room like it is a museum of my life. He glances at each book I have overflowing the shelf, and then notices the stacks spread out across my room in haphazard towers. Moving past the bookshelf, he stops by my bedside table and picks up my worn copy of _Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, _which I've read four and a half times, before placing it back where he found it.

"You like to read," he states and I just nod.

His fingers skim my bed as he continues his circle around the room. Together we look at the posters of various bands and movies and more photos of my mom and me, all of which are of when I was little.

He finally returns to my side and we both stand there looking at the room. I feel like this is some other kid's room. The unwelcoming sensation scares me because it reminds me how much I've changed, but I don't want to lose all of this. I tell myself I'll come back someday and get everything else, though I know that's a lie. This part of my life – this innocence – is behind me. For now, however, I pull all the pictures, concert tickets, and other scraps off the walls. Once the smiling faces and sunny scenes are stuffed into my pockets I leave without a word.

* * *

><p>Outside the rain has stopped but the air is still misty and the night dark. We slip into the rusty beige car that reeks of a perpetual cigarette odor. As we drive away I watch my house disappear in the fog, and the sight tugs at my heart.<p>

We turn the corner and it is completely out of sight.

Releasing a deep breath, I fall back into the worn cushions of my seat. There is comfort in not being inside the house. The reminders of another life suffocated me and I already feel a bit more relieved now that I'm out of its bittersweet grasp, but not quite.

"Is it true that my mom lied to you about birth control?" I ask in a monotone voice, not with an accusatory tone that I would have had prior to tonight.

His hands clench and re-clench the steering wheel before he replies regretfully, "Yeah…but I don't think she did it out of selfishness. She honestly thought that, given the chance, I'd be a great dad. That was probably her biggest misjudgment ever."

I ignore the last part and press on, "But you don't know for sure why she did it."

"Hey, cut Lisa some slack," he responds casually, which is the most comfortable he has ever been when discussing his personal life. "We all make mistakes 'cause we're human…or something like that."

"Aren't you mad she lied to you?" I question as we turn down another shadowed street.

"I was," he admits as his hands crisscross over the steering wheel. "But not anymore."

I'm silent as I try to fight the slight swell of belonging, just in case everything turns out to be a lie. And that leads me to wonder why Gabe hasn't asked about why I left Collins, but it sort of makes sense. This is our time, not his. He doesn't deserve to be in this conversation.

"Where'd you meet her?" I ask to keep the conversation going, though I'm not sure why.

"At a party for the graduating residents," he answers nonchalantly. "Nobody I knew was graduating but my friends and I went for the free food – being broke and all free food was like our Christmas. Anyway, Lisa was there with Collins and…well, I accidentally ran into her and spilled wine all over both of us."

His face turns a light shade of red.

Despite the ache in my chest, my lips tug up into a small smile.

"Smooth," I tease lightly and he laughs.

"It comes naturally," he plays along with his goofy grin.

I'm about ready to quiz him on his life when the car slows and we pull into a short driveway. Though I'm surprised how close it is to my old home – probably only a few streets away – I react quickly by getting out as soon as Gabe shifts the gear to park.

The first thing I notice is the strong, salty smell of the sea and the gusts of wind that carry it. And then I see the house.

It's a small, white rectangular building with a steep black roof that looks practically identical to the rows of houses next to it, but my keen eye picks up its unique traits. I take everything in: a maroon front door with a fancy gold knocker, a wrap around porch that I imagine has a great view of the ocean, windows that glow from the light inside, empty flower pots along the front steps, bugs buzzing around the porch light, rainwater dripping from the roof, and a real estate sign that reads SOLD in massive red letters.

When I walk up the wooden stairs they creek under me like the house is saying hello. Instead of barging right in, I veer off and approach an adjacent window. With my hands resting on the sill, I lean forward and press my forehead against the glass as my eyes scan what seems to be a typical family room. Most of the furniture is new, like the black leather couch and simple wooden coffee table, but there are a few things that have Gabe all over them: the cracked television, the bookshelf filled with medical texts, and his favorite plush green chair. Tucked in the corner is the air freshener I bought a while ago, which we hopefully won't need now that Gabe is going to quit smoking. There's a strange, content feeling I get when I see it, and this grows when I notice a certain stuffed blue fish on the couch.

"I found it in a trashcan on the side of the road," Gabe whispers from beside me. "It was missing a fin and was covered in ketchup and I think some cocaine, but I got the kid – I mean CR – to sew it up. I guess all that suturing could earn him a job as a fashion designer if he weren't so focused on medicine…and, you know, possibly the most antisocial person I've ever met."

He chuckles a bit to himself, the rough sound of it strangely relaxing, and then quickly adds, "I washed it, too."

I don't respond but just keep staring at the fish. An eye is still missing but there is a new sparkle in the thread of its fins and the "fur" is smoothed out. Seeing it cleaned up makes me think if that pathetic toy could shape up then maybe I could as well.

"Do you want to go inside?" he finally asks.

Biting my lip in thought, I shake my head. This is everything I wanted despite my denial, but a part of me is still worried that this will all fall through. I now understand that the pain in my chest isn't just me missing my mom, but also Collins betrayal, and for some reason going inside this house might make it impossible for me to hold back my hurt. I don't know…nothing makes sense to me anymore.

"It's going to be hard for me to trust you," I admit dejectedly without taking my eyes off Fishy.

"I know," Gabe agrees with an odd mix of dread and determination.

"I want to, though," I add. "I just…"

"How about this?" Gabe interrupts in a hopeful tone. "We'll take things slow. You can stay with the Kimishimas a bit as I get everything ready here, but I'll visit you every day. And we'll do things…father-son things, like go out to lunch at that fish place. I promise I won't skip like last time."

Standing up straight, I turn to look at his crooked grin and hopeful amber eyes.

My mouth pulls into a small smile and I reply half-heatedly in an attempt to get back into a more cheerful mood, "Well, what else would you do for lunch? Make scrambled eggs in a beaker?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that I am a master when it comes to cereal," he responds proudly as we slowly walk down the stairs together.

"You'd probably find a way to set that on fire," I jibe back.

"You're so sassy," he replies jokingly. I release a light chuckle and the genuine sound of it comforts me.

He stops walking suddenly but I take a few more steps towards the car. A second later, however, he grabs onto my arm and easily spins me back around. Before I know it his arms are wrapped around my thin body and his head is next to mine. I can hear his raspy breathing in my ear and his musty, cigarette scent drifts into my nose. His grip on me tightens, pinning my arms to my side, and his hands dig into my back. It takes me a few seconds, but I finally realize he's hugging me.

I'm so stunned that I can't even move, or maybe that's because he's holding on so tight since he's afraid I'll disappear any second. All I can think is that it's nice to have him so close, to know that I'm not alone.

"If you run off again I'm getting a tracking device for you," he whispers and his warm breath tickles my ear.

I open my mouth to respond but I'm still too stunned to do anything, so instead we just stand there a bit more as I try to figure out if I should be mad he thinks he can touch me after he threw me for an emotional roller coaster or if I should start crying like a little girl. I go for option three: be dumbstruck.

"You have Lisa's laugh," he breathes wistfully like an afterthought. "Except manlier."

I smile at that but he's disentangling himself now. His long arms brush against mine when he moves away, and before I can say anything he's walking past me towards the car. The darkness hides most of him in shadows but I manage to catch sight of his goofy grin.

Before I turn around, however, I take one more look at the house. It's perfect. The ivory paint is peeling, thick weeds poke between the brick pathway, and it's tiny, but it's perfect. It's perfect because it's ours.

* * *

><p>Author's Note<p>

So you know when you first write a story and you have a few scenes in your head that you're really excited to write? Well, this entire chapter was that scene (past scenes were Joshua and Alyssa's kiss, and Joshua and Gabe's big fight). The chapter title, Somewhere Only We Know, is a song by Keane which I always thought really resembled this chapter, so I encourage you to listen to it.

About Joshua's grandfather's will… I know some of you might be thinking how strange it is, like why would his grandfather ask Collins to gain custody of Joshua in the first place? Well the story isn't over yet (probably one or two more chapters left, depending on how long the next one is. Wow, I'm almost done!) so all questions will hopefully be answered next chapter. Also, thanks to Google for teaching me how to write a will!

The book _Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close_ is an amazing story written by Jonathan Safran Foer, and Joshua's favorite book. Read if if you want to be blown away by amazing writing and deep thoughts.

And another HUGE thanks to my ever-so helpful beta reader **Tell Her This** for catching my errors and supporting me, and for giving me political lessons about Scotland. :) And thank you so much **Orwell is watching-xoxo, magikid196, EmilyAndDixie, Sheibakelly, ADarknessInHeaven, Tell Her This, Canada Cowboy, **and** Indochine**for all the great reviews. 69 reviews are AWESOME, especially for such an unfairly unloved fandom. I really appreciate your feedback and support.

Thanks!

~~Wave~~


	13. Ready

_"It can and will get better. There will come a day, I promise, when your thoughts of your son or daughter or husband or wife will bring a smile to your face before it brings a tear." – Vice President Joe Biden on Memorial Day_

* * *

><p>Chapter Thirteen – Ready<p>

* * *

><p>The ride home is quiet. It's not a comfortable silence but it isn't tense either; we're just too exhausted from our middle-of-the-night emotional trauma to do much talking. By the time we reach the Kimishimas' house I'm still trying to get over the fact that Gabe might not be a horrible person.<p>

He turns off the engine and for a few seconds we just sit in the darkness. Part of me doesn't want to leave, but another part really needs to sleep. With slow movements, I open the door and look at Gabe. He's looking at me. We're still looking at each other when I'm outside and the door is closed. Neither of us moves for a moment, and then I watch him drive away into the night.

The front door opens before I'm even up the stairs. Doctor Kimishima stands tall in her sleek black pants and her arms are crossed over her ruffled white blouse. Her silver hair is tousled but her icy blue eyes are alert. It seems that even at five in the morning she is ready for anything.

Stopping in front of her, I wait for her to say something. Her keen eyes study my face carefully like I'm another one of her mysteries. I expect her to just move aside, but she wraps her thin arms around my shoulders and pulls me in. Suddenly I'm swamped by the smell of Vanilla. Before I can react, however, she steps away and is standing in front of me again with those calculating eyes. I don't know why people keep hugging me tonight; maybe I look like I really need it.

"You're always welcome here," she says gently and a small smile breaks her stony expression. "Just as long as you keep treating Alyssa with respect and compassion."

She says the last part a little more on the threatening side and I feel my face grow hot as I eagerly nod. I didn't think she knew about her daughter's and I…uh, _new_ relationship, but Doctor Kimishima seems to know everything.

Satisfied, she turns around and walks into the house. She slips back into her bedroom and I continue down the shadowed hall to the guestroom. Even in the darkness I find comfort in the familiar smell and feel of the house. Already my emotionally wrecked body is finding relief here.

When I reach my temporary room I find Alyssa sitting on the floor right outside the door. Despite being woken up in the middle of the night her russet hair is smooth and shiny. Her legs are curled up underneath and she's wearing my sweatshirt again. She looks at me with tired green eyes.

"Hey," I whisper after a moment of hesitation and I sit beside her.

"Hey," she replies in a quiet, shaky voice.

"What are you doing up?" I ask as my knee brushes hers, and the contact makes my heart flutter. I hadn't realized how much I missed her.

"I couldn't sleep," she replies. Leaning into me, she rests her head on my shoulder and mumbles, "I also wanted to make sure you got home safely."

I've felt a lot of emotions tonight, but this is the first time I feel guilty.

"I'm sorry I made you worry," I whisper while sliding my fingers between hers.

"If you run off again I'll probably punch you," she whispers casually.

Smiling, I reply, "And I'll deserve it."

Slowly, she leans away from me so we can both look at each other. The darkness casts her face in a dull blue light but her emerald eyes are bright again. Her lips twitch into a sad smile and she whispers, "I'm just glad you're safe."

The fact she cares is enough to make me smile too.

My hand still in hers, I ask casually, "Hey, you want to go out some time?"

Her pink lips turn up into a genuine grin but she doesn't say anything. Silent, she stands up and I follow her movements while trying to not be confused by her lack of response.

She stands unusually close to me and that enigmatic smile is still gracing her face. With her hands on her hips, she whispers teasingly, "I thought you'd never ask."

And then her hands tug on my jacket collar just forcefully enough to bring our lips together. Maybe it's because I've been up all night or because I am an emotional wreck, but her kiss stuns me and I forget my name. I can feel her fingers brushing my neck and it sends shivers down my spine. It takes me a few seconds to register what is going on before I can wrap my arms around her and actually kiss her back.

Once I saw Doctor Kimishima kiss Little Guy this way; she yanked him by his tie and they kissed for just a moment. I thought it would be painful for Little Guy, but now I understand why he doesn't complain.

The sound of an opening door breaks through the silence and reminds us that we're not alone. Terrified at the aspect of Doctor Kimishima walking in on this, we both separate and I rush to occupy myself. Acting on instinct, I kneel to tie my shoe…only to find I'm not wearing shoes. Damn it.

"Joshua," Doctor Kimishima says skeptically. "What are you doing?"

"I-I'm…" I stutter and glance nervously at Alyssa. "I'm…itching my foot. I mean, scratching my foot…cause I have an itch."

"Yes, well, it's five in the morning so I suggest you both get back to bed," she commands but she doesn't sound angry.

Standing up, I nod as she turns back around and walks to the bathroom. My heart is still pounding once she's out of sight.

Alyssa and I look at each other, studying the other's stunned expression and red cheeks, before grinning together.

"See you in the morning," she says sweetly and takes a step towards me. She quickly kisses my cheek and then walks down the hall towards her room.

"Uh-huh," I reply intelligently but she's already gone. The feeling of her kiss lingers on my lips, and if I weren't so exhausted sleeping would be impossible.

Retreating to the guestroom, I'm simply glad that there is at least one person who will stay with me.

* * *

><p>Most teenagers spend their Saturday mornings sleeping in till noon or having breakfast with friends. Some are too hung over to do much more than groan, and others gradually wake themselves by watching T.V. Me? I spend it at a graveyard.<p>

I've been sitting against my mother's tombstone for almost half an hour. Twirling grass around my fingers, I simply admire the lush green trees and smell of freshly mowed grass. I brought her flowers this time – beautiful and brightly colored with soft petals and a sweet smell to help cover the strange odor of earth and death. The sun warms my skin and songbirds fly between the graves. After a terrible winter, it's nice to finally witness spring.

Sometime last week I decided that I'd be a better son by visiting my mother more often, and I'll always bring her a gift. When I'm here I don't talk to my mom's grave and I don't sink my face into the soil as I sob (though sometimes I want to do that), I just sit with her. I like to think that she's enjoying this day with me.

Sighing, I rest my head against the smooth stone and close my eyes. The grass tickles my fingers as a warm breeze plays with my _uncut_ (suck it, Collins) hair. Through the singing birds and rustling trees, I hear the soft murmur of approaching footsteps. Opening my eyes, my heart skips a beat when I see a tall blond man approaching me. The incredible calm I was just feeling lingers and keeps me from strangling him right then.

He stops a few feet away from me and doesn't step on my mother's grave, though I still don't like him so close to it. Everything about him is how it usually his –golden hair and a crisp black suit – but his face is far from flawless. His right eye is black and pussy, so much so that I can barely see his blue iris, and his nose and mouth are bruised red. A thin cut ruins his once perfectly high cheekbones. I just hope there are more wounds underneath his clothes.

Seeing him hurts. I had been hoping I'd never be reminded of how I was deceived by somebody I thought was my friend, but now all I can think about is the night when I found the will, and I begin slipping back to those despondent feelings. This time, however, I feel more angry than weak.

"I'm leaving today," he says in a soft, dejected tone as he places his hands in his pockets. For once he isn't gesticulating wildly.

"Good," I reply bitterly with a glare.

"I came to talk – "

"Fuck off."

His mouth falls open and he blinks twice while I feel incredibly satisfied, though I do wish I were the one who gave him the black eye.

"Let me – "

"No," I strongly interrupt, my hatred growing with each word. "I'll do the talking, and you just fucking listen."

"I will not be spoken to in such a way," he rebukes but I talk over him.

"You lied to me, you manipulated me, you almost ruined my chance to have a family, you used me for money – "

"It wasn't all about the money," he adds in quickly but I just shout over him.

" – And you don't even need it!" My breathing is heavy as I stare up at him, confusion mixing with my rage. "I-I don't get it. Why did you want that money?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," he says eagerly in a much calmer tone. He kneels beside me and I want to give him another black eye, but for some reason I just can't. Hopeful, he continues, "It wasn't all about the money – "

"You expect me to believe that you dropped your life in California to come to Maine for a kid you've never even met before? And that money had nothing to do with it?"

"You believed it before," he says matter-of-factly.

"That's because I was desperate for somebody to talk to and I didn't know about the will a-and I…" my words fail me as I try to compose myself. I hate that my heart feels like it is going to beat out of my chest and my eyes are heavy with unshed tears. I hate how just talking to him makes me weak from his betrayal.

"You were supposed to be my son, not Gabriel's," he whispers affectionately with a small smile and compassionate blue eyes. "Even though we never met, I felt like I knew you – "

"And the money didn't matter?" I ask in an anxious rush of words. The shakiness of my voice scares me.

"Joshua," he coaxes. "All that mattered to me was you – "

"Tell me the money didn't matter," I demand as I try to stop my shaking hands.

He hesitates. Dear God he hesitates.

"The money didn't matter," he repeats.

"You're lying."

"No I'm not – "

"You're lying," I repeat with more strength while my fingers dig into the moist dirt, preventing me from beating him to a pulp.

"O-okay, so the money did interest me," he confesses hastily. "But I only cared about you – "

"I heard you talking on the phone to him," I cut him off, the words spilling out of me in a shaky, uncontrollable wave. "To my grandfather. How come you got to meet him but I never did?'

"Uh…" is his intelligent reply. It's the first time I've ever heard him speechless.

"Why didn't my grandfather want me?" I ask again, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.

He sighs heavily and leans back on his heels. His voice is surprisingly sympathetic and gentle as he explains, "Lisa's parents and my own were very close. They were business partners, you see, and it was for business matters that our parents planned to have us married. When Lisa decided she did not want to marry me, however, they disowned her. After her death, your grandfather regretted not talking to her after all these years. I believe he always wanted to reconnect with her, but he's a very prideful man. Once Lisa died he knew he was too late, he decided he wanted to connect with you, but he wanted you back as _my_ son and not Gabriel's. He's very ill though, so time for him is short. He thus created the will in hopes that it would give me further reason to connect with you."

I've never met my grandfather, but I'm kind of glad I didn't. Just hearing about him fills me with disgust.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ask uneasily, "If my grandfather wanted me back so badly then why didn't he just come for me himself?"

"Your grandfather is very stubborn and refused to see you until you were _my_ son, not Gabriel's," Collins repeats in the same calm tone, which is getting on my nerves.

My fingers dig deeper into the moist dirt. My grandfather sounds like a rich stubborn baby, throwing a fit whenever he doesn't get what he wants. I really hate people like that.

"So that's why you told him that I looked just like my mom instead of Gabe," I state bitterly.

He nods.

"But he would've realized you lied once he saw me," I remind him with contempt. "Great plan you had there."

"Well…" Collins begins unsteadily. "You see, your grandfather had a stroke a while back and it left him blind. So he actually would not be able to _see_ you…"

I'm stunned.

We stare at each other for a few seconds; I'm speechless with shock while he simply waits for a response.

"Are you telling me," I say slowly and incredulously. "That you lied to a _blind _and _dying _man to get money?"

"But, Joshua," he whispers with affection. "I lied for _you_ – "

"Oh don't get started on that crap again," I cut him off with a roll of my eyes. "You said so yourself: he created the will to be your incentive to connect with me. And if money didn't matter then you wouldn't have lied to him."

"The money was seen as just another perk of being with you," he repeats hastily.

"Bull shit," I interrupt with a huff.

He releases another deep breath out of his nose, his nostrils flaring, and his perfect smile dips into a frown.

"I wouldn't drop my very successful life in California just for money," he admits so quietly I don't think he intended for me to hear it. With a sigh, he falls back on his butt and crosses his legs. His shoulders drop like he has the weight of the world pressed on him. Seeing him sitting that way without perfect posture almost makes him look _normal_.

I watch his still body while I try to decide if what he just said is sincere. The sound of singing birds and rustling leaves fills our silence.

"Do you know how old I am?" He whispers, his voice like the breeze, and he won't look at me. "I'm forty two. _Forty-two_ and I'm still completely alone. I don't have a wife or children. People tend to stay away from me because I'm controlling. And…and I really miss Lisa. I never realized how much I loved her until it was too late. There are so many things I would have done differently… And the way I acted was wrong, yes, but I did it because…because…"

"Because you were lonely," I finish.

His shoulders shag as he releases a deep breath. An ant crawls along his polished shoe but he doesn't notice. I've never seen him look so miserable and weak before now.

When I discovered the will I thought that Collins bought all his fancy crap because he wanted what Gabe didn't have, but maybe I was wrong. What if he buys so much useless junk because it's his way of filling some kind of emptiness inside of him? Maybe he's greedy because he's lonely.

"How many houses do you have?" I ask.

"Five," he says without looking up.

"And how many of those houses are empty?"

His hands stop moving and he becomes still. I wait for him to respond but he remains silent. The ant crawls along his knee and he stares it at but does not flick it off. He watches another crawl along his ankle, just a little black dot where it shouldn't be.

For the first time I pity Collins because I see him for what he really is: an aging, lonely man. He was so desperate for company that he went through so much trouble just to connect with a boy he never even met. It's pathetic really. So pathetic that I no longer think hitting him is justifiable. Damn it. I was really hoping I'd get to beat him up and feel no remorse, but now…. Ugh, sometimes I hate my good morals.

Sighing, I grumble, "Go home, Collins. Return to your job in California and move on from all this. Socialize a bit more and try not to be so perfect. Be honest…to yourself and everybody else."

He still won't respond and he just stares at the grass. I may pity him enough not to beat him, but I definitely don't want him around anymore.

After some time he brings his head up and I'm surprised to see tears in his cobalt eyes yet a small smile on his face. For the past month he has looked at me with affection, but this time I actually feel it.

"Honestly," he says in a strained voice. "I hate swimming. I know I told you I loved it but I absolutely hate it…. And Lisa and I didn't get along perfectly when we were children. It was actually rather awkward. And I hate lobsters."

I just nod in approval, glad that he's being honest.

His smile falters and he looks back down at his hands. With a deep breath, he adds, "I came here to try to convince you to let me adopt you so we could both get the money, but I doubt you'll want to do that now…"

He looks up at me, tears still in his eyes, and I shake my head.

"I suppose you'll want to hit me, too," he mumbles with slight fear.

Ugh, why do I have to be the better person here?

"No…" I sigh almost bitterly. "Though I was planning on it. Who already hit you?"

"Gabriel," he grumbles and winces at the thought. "He came to get your stuff and then he said he had some unfinished business, which is when he hit me."

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm glad he did it," I say boldly, and I kind of wish I had been there for that fight. Being in the army, I bet Gabe was awesome.

"You…" he says almost in a whimper, and it only adds to how pathetic he is now. "You really hate me, don't you?"

For a brief moment I consider lying to him, but then I change my mind and say bluntly, "Yep."

He nods and I imagine he is used to people hating him.

With a deep breath, he stands up and brushes the ants off of his pants. I follow suit so we're face to face. I gladly notice that I'll be taller than him in just a few years.

He says remorsefully, "I must be going soon, but I owe you an apology for all the trouble I've caused. I…I wish you and Gabriel the best of luck. You'll make a good family."

"Thank you," I reply with forced civility.

"I can only hope that one day you'll want to talk to me again – the real me – and if you're ever in Las Angeles, Chicago, Boston, or New York City, let me know and I'll let you stay at one of my houses," he adds and his blue eyes are misty with unshed tears while I wonder if this is another one of his ploys, like he is trying to guilt me into working with him.

"Uh-huh," I grunt just like my mom used to when she was pissed with somebody, though he doesn't seem to pick up on the hostility.

He then puts his hand out, and I know it doesn't seem like much but the fact that he did it rather than me makes me feel older somehow. Not really older, but wiser and respected. Collins has always been the judging one, but now he wants my approval, and the realization lifts some of my suspicions. It makes me hopeful that maybe he'll change, but I'm still too skeptical to fully believe this. Nevertheless, I shake his hand. His fingers curl tightly around mine but my grip is stronger.

"You are becoming a remarkable young man," he says proudly, which catches me off guard. "I know it's going to be difficult, but you and I both need to let go of the past. _All of it_."

I'm not sure what he means by _all of it_, but as I watch him walk down the line of tombstones, I think I understand.

Once he's completely out of sight, I take a deep breath of clean spring air and say goodbye to my mother.

* * *

><p><p>

A Few Months Later

* * *

><p>"So your sister is Sofia but she likes to be called Sophie, and she has three daughters, all of which are under twelve," I recite as I watch the passing landscape. With my feet propped on the dashboard, my hand hanging limply out the open window, and my seat reclined as far back as possible, the three-hour drive to Montpelier, Vermont should be comfortable but I'm queasy with anxiety.<p>

"And the daughters' names?" Gabe quizzes from the driver's seat. The warm summer air rushes in from the open windows and whips his long green hair around. He only has one hand on the wheel while the other is resting on the door.

"The oldest is Sarah, Bianca is ten, and Isabella is six," I answer easily. "You're mother is the super Italian one who everybody calls _Nona_ and your dad is the guy who probably won't leave his chair and everybody calls him Ed. His side of the family is small but your mother's side is enormous."

I don't mention that the number of family members frightens me. My entire life it had just been my mom and me – nobody else – but now I'm driving to a family reunion where I'll probably make a huge fool out of myself. And to make things even more stressful, Gabe insisted that we keep our arrival a surprise. Everybody knows that he left my mom and me, but they have no idea about what's been going on for the past few months, so I guess seeing me will be a big deal.

The one thing I am excited for, however, is that most of them are really Italian. I wouldn't have guessed it by looking at Gabe (I guess he takes after his father), but that does explain why my middle name is Leonardo. If I could just get past my fears I'd love to learn about my heritage...and then complain for having the longest name ever.

Taking a deep breath, I begin reciting the long list of extended family that I've been memorizing for the past three hours, "Your aunt – my great aunt – is Clarissa and she has a limp from when she successfully fought off a thug. Her husband, Georgio, will tell his war stories whenever he gets the chance but they're really boring. Your other aunt, Vera, is in a wheelchair and her husband died of cancer a few years back. Your cousin Nathan has a huge mustache that nobody likes and…"

I go on for another ten minutes listing all the information easily. Meanwhile, Gabe yells at the driver in front of him but I'm a good student and easily focus on the information. Even his rude gestures to other drivers don't deter me. When I'm done, however, I'm out of breath and even more terrified than before.

"With a memory like that I have no idea why you need summer school," Gabe says proudly with a crooked grin. "It's definitely the deep sulcus in your brain."

Rolling my eyes, I repeat something we've gone over a thousand times, "There is no evidence that a deep sulcus means greater intelligence…and it is still creepy you saw my brain."

"Why do you and RONI insist on crushing my dreams?" he groans with fake pain (at least I think it's fake). "And it was an MRI exam, so quit worrying…. Jesus Christ people! If you're slow then get into the right lane! Why does everybody suck at driving?"

I chuckle at his impatience and we fall into a comfortable silence, which is occasionally broken by Gabe's angry grumbling. For a while I focus on the blur of pine trees as we travel through the mountain pass, but I can't stop worrying. Without realizing it I am muttering all the names of family members like a crazy person.

"Calm down," Gabe says gently, and the sound of his voice startles me out of my trance. "They are all really nice people. They're going to like you, and if they don't they'll be too drunk to remember why."

"Oh, that's comforting," I reply sarcastically and sink deeper into my seat.

"Hey, if you mess up I'll make a yo mama joke and that should redirect the embarrassment onto me," he offers with confidence.

"Please don't do one of those jokes," I practically beg, my face already turning red at the thought of it. "We _aren't _gangsters. We're skinny white guys with green hair. Big difference."

"Big difference between a U-Haul and yo mama – "

"NO!" I cry out before he can finish the terribly bad joke though he just cracks up. Gabe usually isn't embarrassing, but those jokes make me want to bury myself under a mountain.

We pass a sign that reads _Welcome to Montpelier _and I think my limbs have turned into jelly. Heart pounding, I observe the town with increasing dread. The small brick houses and thick green trees seem too perfect to be real so there is bound to be some psycho murderer running around. We pass by a lake (which is probably where the killer lives) and I really want to go swimming, but we drive by. We just drive and drive until we come to a street that is lined with cars.

We park behind a SUV and Gabe cuts off the engine. I think I'm going to be sick.

"Hey," he says softly and rests a hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at him while trying to fight off the queasiness. With a reassuring smile, he adds, "As long as you be yourself they'll instantly love you."

I'm not sure how to respond because he sounds so sincere. Even though we're living together as family we rarely have these kind of heart-to-heart moments, so I'm not used to him being compassionate. Honestly, I've never seen him be kind to anybody other than me.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, he says with some excitement, "I got you something."

Removing his hand from my shoulder, he reaches into the backseat and grabs a small package wrapped in green tissue paper. With a grin, he hands it to me and says, "Happy birthday."

Surprised, I hesitate before taking the gift. We had celebrated my birthday last night with the Kimishimas and Gabe had kind of gone overboard with the gifts. He already got me a new phone and a pet fish (which I almost named Fishy, but I tried to be more creative and went with Eggplant instead), what else could he have done?

I can feel him watching me as I slowly pull the paper apart. Once the green wrapping falls away I'm left with a thick leather bound book. Curious, I gingerly flip through the pages but it isn't a book, it's a photo album. There are pictures of my mom and Gabe, both younger, and then pictures of a baby with ochre eyes and an awed expression. Every page there is a photo of her warm smile and shining brown eyes. There are even a few pictures of Gabe holding me as a baby, and he actually looks happy in them. Fishy appears once in a while, too. Instantly I'm overwhelmed and the present doesn't seem real, but my heart feels lighter as I smile at my stupid expressions and my mother's laughing face.

I open my mouth to thank him but I'm at a loss for words. Running my hands along the edge of the page, all I can think is how amazing it is to have my mother's life so close. Each picture is labeled in elegant handwriting that I can only assume belongs to her. Things like _first date_ and _new baby Joshua _are scrawled under the photographs. I already know I'm going to look through this a million times, and I'll quiz Gabe on the photos, all of which hold a story.

Finally, I look up at him but I'm still speechless. He just smiles though because he understands how special this is.

"Come on," he urges. "We've got a party to attend to."

He exits the car but I can't move. For a few seconds I merely stare at the picture of my smiling mother, gluing it to my memory, and then close the album. With a deep breath, I step outside and walk towards Gabe.

Even though hugging isn't our thing (the only time we've done it was the night I ran away from Collins a few months ago), I have no qualms about it this time. I hold him just long enough to say, "Thanks, Dad" before stepping away and walking down the street. He keeps up with me but we don't look at each other, trying to play it off like it's no big deal. I can only assume that he feels the same joy and comfort I have from my casual use of the word _dad_. It's the first time I've called him that, and using it makes this all feel official, like we won't let this fall apart without a fight.

We're not perfect together. I hold grudges, he's irresponsible, we both sleep through our alarm clocks, I have slight trust issues, and he's often rude to everybody, but we're working together. Despite my mixed feelings for him, Collins was right when he said I had to move on from all of the past, not just my mother's death. We're both scarred from everything, but we've accepted our faults and will work with it, not against it. And if I can remember that then maybe I can stop being so scared to meet my relatives.

As we walk closer and closer to the brick house I can see people in the window, and some of them have green hair. I tell myself to remember this moment. I focus on the feel of the album's rough leather in my hand and the smoothness of the pages. I focus on the sun's warmth, the singing birds, Gabe's footsteps in time with mine, and an overall feeling of happiness and belonging. I focus on all of this because there were many times in the past few months where I wanted to simply give up. Everything had felt like shit and I'd thought I'd be trapped in that Hell forever. I make myself remember this moment where everything is all right so that when I feel like the world is crashing down on me again, I can remind myself that things will change. People will change. We'll get hurt along the way, but there will always be something that makes it better. Right now that something is a father at my side, a huge family waiting for me, and a photo album to remind me of everything I love.

We stop in front of an elegant white door. For a few seconds we listen to the sounds of laughing children and chatting adults with Italian accents. I can smell a blueberry pie and smoked sausages, reminding me of how hungry I am.

"Ready?" Gabe asks with a confident grin and his amber eyes are bright.

Taking a deep breath, I return the smile.

"Ready."

* * *

><p><em>Authors Note<em>

Whoa…I'm done. Snap.

So sorry this took so long but this was possibly one of the hardest chapters to write. Endings have always been difficult for me and I restarted this six times. I also was gone for the month of July in New York, so that really held me back. I'm really so sorry this took forever to post! I bet everybody has forgotten about this story and gave up on it, but if you haven't then thanks for sticking with it! :D

And of course a big thanks to **Tell Her This** for helping me out yet again. As usual you were incredibly helpful and always know how to make a story better.

The quote I threw in the very beginning is from Joe Biden's (U.S.'s vice president) Memorial Day speech, which was incredibly moving and beautiful. The speech is about 20 minutes long, but if you've lost a family member or somebody you love then I urge you to listen to it because it's really touching.

On another note, I have no idea where Gabe is from but I went with Vermont. Also I know Gabe doesn't look Italian but I just really liked the idea of him having an Italian mother and a huge family. Sorry if you hate that.

So now I'm going to go into some acknowledgements, so feel free to stop reading if you don't care.

_"There's a consensus that writing is a solitary act, but it took a village to grow this book" – author Swati Avasthi _(I love this quote)

My biggest thanks go to **Tell Her This** who is the only but still coolest Scottish person I know. She had offered to help me with my story and I'm so grateful for that because she has really been a fantastic beta reader and helped make this story into something better than I had expected. She's also been a great friend and somebody who I really enjoy talking to. So thank you so much and I'm sorry I can't pay you cause if I could I would!

I also want to thank everybody who has read and stuck with this story even though it took a year to finish. You have all been so incredibly supportive and helpful that I really don't know how to repay you. Thank you **Canada Cowboy, TCGleek, Indochine, EmilyAndDixie, magikid196, ADarknessInHeaven, Tell Her This, Orwell is watching-xoxo, SheiBakelly, StarStarStar, cheesetomacaroni, Yaku-R, Liliafax, chibi-chinita, ElizabethStiles, Clarissa Gavin, **and **risefromgrace16 **for all of your amazing reviews throughout this story. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!

I'm sorry this AN is so long but I'll draw it to a close now. Thanks so much for reading and I really hoped you enjoyed this as much as I did! I'd love to hear what you thought of the conclusion because writing endings is one of the most difficult things for me. I know it's not a full resolution but I was going for an American Modernist style conclusion, where there's a hint of a resolution. So please give one last review to make me super happy.

For more information about An Old Blue Fish or upcoming stories from me, please see my profile.

And there will not be a sequel to this story! (but there may be a prequel…)

THANK YOU FOREVER AND EVER!

~~Wave~~

P.S. from chapter one's AN: "_This is my newest story where it is kind of like a ficlet, because I'm not making it as super intense as my other chaptered stories." _Hahaha funny joke cause I actually tried so hard!


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